Explore "Lucy Harding" by Mary Jane Holmes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The next day I went for a drive with Mrs. Whitney along the Court Quay and the Nevsky Prospect, and past the Seguin house, which had an air of being shut up. The old porter was, however, at his post, and in the third story a window was open, and a bird cage standing in it, with a bird straining his little throat with his song, while near him was a vase of flowers.
"Somebody is home," I thought. "Zaidee, probably, and that is her room. If so, she will find me."