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Updated: June 16, 2025
When Lady Holme reached the door of the Carlton, and was just entering one of the revolving cells to gain the pavement, she heard Lady Cardington's low voice behind her. "Let me drive you home, dear." At the moment she felt inclined to be alone. She had even just refused Sir Donald's earnest request to accompany her to her carriage.
One evening late in January, Leigh entered Cardington's room with his post-prandial pipe still burning. "What do you say," he demanded, "to going down to the opera house to hear the President of the United States speak? Here I 've been shut up all day, and forgot what was going on till I picked up the paper just now.
The manoeuvre disclosed to Leigh the fact that his colleague had intended all the time to come, and also his own good fortune in obtaining such a guide. "Pass right in, professor," one of the guard said, as soon as he caught sight of Cardington's tall figure. "A friend of yours? All right. Sergeant, these are two friends of mine."
"I wish I had Cardington's gift of speech to express the thoughts that have lately been taking shape in my mind concerning the spectacle of a democratic aristocracy. Now, if Emmet had the philosophical attitude of mind, he would n't have the strength to struggle which he undoubtedly does have.
He would doubtless have thought it mere imagination, some accidental resemblance to which his ear had given identity, had not Cardington's manner registered a sudden emotional disturbance. He paused in his narration, like one smitten with mental atrophy and searching for the word that was about to reach his lips.
Had any other woman made her this offer she would certainly have refused it. But few people refused any request of Lady Cardington's. Lady Holme, like the rest of the world, felt the powerful influence that lay in her gentleness as a nerve lies in a body. And then had she not wept when Lady Holme sang a tender song to her?
Silence had fallen between them when they heard the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs, buoyant and determined. They might be directed to Cardington's room across the way, but the two listeners stood as if frozen, waiting with strange foreboding for the issue. Then came a loud knocking on the door. They stood apart, and looked at each other with mute irresolution.
Cardington's participation displayed an animus which hitherto had been absent from his remarks upon the subject, as if the result of the election had stirred him deeply, also. "I have heard," he remarked, "that Emmet would never have been elected if it had n't been for the support of Bat What's-his-name and the gang that makes his saloon a rendezvous."
Cardington's phrase, "nocturnal mystery," was a reminder of the scene through which he had passed thus far unheeding, and suggested its kinship with the woman of his thoughts. The vista seemed to stretch away interminably, disclosing unexpected glimpses of colour where the boughs displayed their changing leaves within the radius of an electric light.
She stood near him, her hands involved in the folds of her cloak, her bearing one of spontaneity and candour. He pulled off his cap and stood waiting. None of the conventional greetings passed between them. He did not even ask her to be seated, so great was his bewilderment, his anxiety to know why she had come. The emotion that had stirred her in Cardington's room seemed gone now.
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