Perhaps, also, out of fear that I might meet
with Richard Dawson, alone and unprotected.
When we drove up in front of the Ardaraghs' house the hall door stood
open. There was not a soul in sight; not even a friendly dog came down
the steps to greet us, though usually there were half a dozen of them.
I rang and knocked but no one came. It was five in the afternoon, and I
guessed that Lady Ardaragh might be out and the servants at tea
somewhere in the back premises.
However, I was not to be put off by an unanswered bell since the door
stood open. I knew my way about the house well, and was on terms of
sufficient intimacy to announce myself.
I guessed that the most likely place to find Lady Ardaragh would be the
little inner drawing-room of which she had made a boudoir, to which were
admitted only her favoured and intimate visitors.
I went through the house without meeting any one. There was not a sound.
Often at this hour Lady Ardaragh had the boy with her; but if he had
been there now I should have heard his shouts and laughter as I had
heard them before. However cold and strange she might be to her serious
husband Lady Ardaragh was a lovely mother, and she never looked to
greater advantage than when she was romping with her boy down on the
floor, her beautiful hair pulled about her, flushed, happy, smiling, as
I have seen her.
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