II
One day the Old Gentleman was not in his accustomed place; and it was a very fine day too. Alison was disappointed, and even Thomson, I mean Jimmie, I mean the Aberdeen terrier, seemed to miss something.
And the next day he was not there.
And the next.
And then came Sunday, when Alison went to church, and afterwards for a rather dull walk with her father, strictly on the paths, past “Physical Energy” to the Serpentine, to look at the peacocks, and then back again by the Albert Memorial, and so home. Monday and Tuesday were both wet, and on Wednesday it was a whole week since Alison had seen the Old Gentleman; but to her grief he was again absent.
And so, having her mother’s permission, the next day she called at the hotel. She had the greatest difficulty in getting in because it was the first time that either she or her dog had ever been through a revolving door; but at last they came safely into the hall into the presence of a tall porter in a uniform of splendour.
“Can you tell me if Mr. James Thomson is still staying here?” Alison asked.
“I am sorry to say, Missie,” replied the porter, “that Mr. Thomson died last week.”
Poor Alison....