A dignified hall-porter opened the door leisurely, and eyed the thin, poorly-clad figure and pallid face with stern disfavour.
"Is Lord Sutcombe at home ?" asked Mr.Clendon, quietly, and not without a certain dignity.
"His lordship the Marquess is within; suttenly; but----" The man hesitated, with unconcealed suspicion.
"Will you tell his lordship, please, that a gentleman wishes to see him ?" said Mr.Clendon.
The porter looked beyond the bowed figure, as if he expected to see someone else, the "gentleman" referred to; then, as he failed to see anyone, he said, severely: "'Ave you an appointment?
'Is lordship don't see promiskus visitors." Mr.Clendon seemed to consider for a moment; as if he had expected this difficulty.

He wrote the single letter "W" on a piece of paper he found in his pocket, and handed it to the man.
"Please give this to his lordship," he said, still with that quiet air of dignity and composure which had impressed the porter, against his will.
The man eyed the piece of paper doubtfully, and the applicant for admission still more so; then, signing to the bench in the hall, by way of permitting rather than inviting the old man to take a seat, he went slowly up the broad stairs, lined with pictures and statuary, and carpeted with thick Axminster.

Mr.Clendon seated himself, leant both hands on his stick and looked around him, not curiously, but with a thoughtful, and yet impassive, expression.

Presently the man came down, with evident surprise on his well-fed countenance.
"Please follow me," he said; and Mr.Clendon followed him up the stairs, and was ushered into a small room on the first floor.

It was a library, handsomely furnished and luxuriously appointed; a huge fire was burning in the bronze grate, and, as its warmth went out to meet him, Mr.
Clendon thought of the fireless grate over which the young girl had crouched.