The hospital, an Orphans' Home, and the Auditorium seemed a queer combination to that driver, but the Angel was always and everywhere the Angel, and her methods were strictly her own.
"I will take you there as quickly as any man could with a team," he said promptly.
The Angel clung to the card and paper, and as best she could in the lurching, swaying cab, read the addresses over.
"O'More, Suite Eleven, Auditorium." "'O'More,'" she repeated.

"Seems to fit Freckles to a dot.

Wonder if that could be his name?
'Suite Eleven' means that you are pretty well fixed.

Suites in the Auditorium come high." Then she turned the card and read on its reverse, Lord Maxwell O'More, M.P., Killvany Place, County Clare, Ireland.
The Angel sat on the edge of the seat, bracing her feet against the one opposite, as the cab pitched and swung around corners and past vehicles.
She mechanically fingered the pasteboard and stared straight ahead.

Then she drew a deep breath and read the card again.
"A Lord-man!" she groaned despairingly.