Apologizing to Sir Rowland for this unpleasant reception, and swearing lustily at his servant for occasioning it by leaving the dogs at liberty, Jonathan ordered the man to light them to the audience-room. She was listed for the raid—she was informed it was to be a raid upon the House of Commons, though no particulars were given her—and told to go alone to 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, and not to ask any policeman to direct her. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness.
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