The porter
was alone in the hall. She inquired for her servant.
"He is not returned, madam,"
Having foreseen the necessity of getting rid of all attendants, she
had purposely sent her footman on an errand as far as Kensington.
"It is of no consequence," returned she to the porter, who was just
going to propose one of Lady Dundas's men. "I cannot meet with
anything disagreeable at this time of day, so I shall walk alone."
The man opened the door; and with a bounding heart Mary hastened down
the street, crossed the square, and at the bottom of Orchard Street
stepped into a hackney-coach, which she ordered to drive to
Slaughter's Coffee-house, St. Martin's Lane.
She drew up the glasses and closed her eyes. Various thoughts
agitated her anxious mind whilst the carriage rolled along; and when
it drew up at the coffee-house, she involuntarily retreated into the
corner. The coach-door was opened.
"Will you alight, ma'am?"
"No; call a waiter."
A waiter appeared; and Miss Beaufort, in a tolerably collected voice,
inquired whether Mr. Constantine lived there?
"No, ma'am."
A cold dew stood on her forehead; but taking courage from a latent
and last hope, she added, "I know he has had letters directed to this
place."
"Oh! I beg your pardon, ma'am!" returned the man recollecting
himself; "I remember a person of that name has received letters from
hence, but they were always fetched away by a little girl.
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