"Can you give me Lady Woldo's address?"
"I can't," said Mr. Slosson, after an instant's hesitation.
"You mean you won't!"
Mr. Slosson pursed his lips.
"Well, you can do the other thing!" said Edward Henry, insolent to the
last.
As he left the premises he found Mr. Rollo Wrissell, and his own new
acquaintance, Mr. Alloyd, the architect, chatting in the portico. Mr.
Wrissell was calm, bland and attentive; Mr. Alloyd was eager, excited
and deferential.
Edward Henry caught the words "Russian Ballet." He reflected upon an
abstract question oddly disconnected with the violent welter of his
sensations: "Can a man be a good practical architect who isn't able to
sleep because he's seen a Russian Ballet?"
The alert chauffeur of the electric brougham, who had an excellent
idea of effect, brought the admirable vehicle to the kerb exactly
in front of Edward Henry as Edward Henry reached the edge of the
pavement. Ejaculating a brief command, Edward Henry disappeared within
the vehicle and was whirled away in a style whose perfection no scion
of a governing family could have bettered.
IV
The next scene in the exciting drama of Edward Henry's existence
that day took place in a building as huge as Wilkins's itself. As the
brougham halted at its portals an old and medalled man rushed forth,
touched his cap, and assisted Edward Henry to alight.
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