CHAPTER XXIX
It was true, as Sir Ian Hereward had said, that Harland's Hotel had no air of brightness or gaiety.
If the swift motion of the motor-cab, and the exciting thought that she was about to see Ian, had lifted for a few moments the load of oppression from Terry's breast, she felt the weight again, heavy and mysterious, as she stopped in front of the grim, unwelcoming facade.
The house had the look of an old private mansion turned into a hotel. The door was closed, and there was no smiling porter to fling it open as the cab drew up at the pavement. Terry pushed an electric bell; and somehow, as she touched it, the memory of her call at Friars' Moat swept suddenly over her, making her feel faint, almost sick. She had rung at the door then, and asked for Lady Hereward, who at that moment was lying dead in the View Tower. The footman had said "her ladyship was out, lunching at Riding Wood." Now, she would ask for Sir Ian. What would the answer be?
After a long moment, a discreet elderly servant came to the hotel door. Terry's voice sounded strangely in her ears, as she inquired if Sir Ian Hereward was in. The old man did not seem to notice
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