Breakfast over, and Miss Arbuthnot’s modest victoria at the door to convey Cecil to meet her fate, the principal grew nervous again. Cecil was far more collected than she was, and got together her testimonials and certificates with a calmness which was extremely creditable. At last they were ready to start, and, after what seemed a miraculously short drive, arrived at Daridge’s Hotel. Cecil’s courage was beginning to fail her now, and she felt her limbs trembling as she followed Miss Arbuthnot into the hall, and thence up the wide staircase, preceded by a peculiarly gorgeous domestic in livery. Presently this individual opened a door on one side of a lofty corridor, and ushered them into a room filled with gentlemen. Cecil caught Miss Arbuthnot’s arm. “This can’t be the right room. He’s taking us into a committee meeting by mistake,” she whispered. “No, my dear, it is all right,” said Miss Arbuthnot, and marched on undauntedly, Cecil following, and experiencing something of the feeling which must have actuated Childe Roland when he came to the Dark Tower. The gentlemen rose as they entered, and one of them, in whom Cecil recognised her last night’s acquaintance, Denarien Bey, came to shake hands; while, to complete her mystification, she caught sight of Lady Haigh smiling and nodding at her from the other side of a long table. Denarien Bey placed chairs for the new arrivals--a proceeding which reminded Cecil forcibly of the words sometimes met with in the reports of trials, “the prisoner at the bar was accommodated with a seat,”--and then returned to his place, so that Cecil had time to look about her.