The time when she expected him went by, and he did not come. She was alone in her boudoir, waiting; and the minutes lagged. Even allowing for a tardy train, he ought to have appeared before now. With a sinking of heart she gave him up and determined to go back to her arrangements. A letter would doubtless arrive later.
As she moved towards the door it opened, and he stood before her—calm, stern, collected. Not the Rob whom she had known hitherto. She moved forward in welcome, but his manner checked her, and he offered no kiss.
"I have come to see you," he said. "That is better than writing. I must know what you mean."
"I meant of course what I said." Pride again had the upper hand as she stood facing him.
He had closed the door as he entered, and he too kept on his feet, looking pale but resolute.
"You said—or implied—that the continuance of our engagement must depend on my coming to that particular party."
"Yes. I meant that. I have told you how much I want you here—and it ought to be enough! If I ask it, you ought to come."
"For my own pleasure I should not hesitate, of course. There are other things to be considered. It is a question of duty, not pleasure; and I have told you already that I cannot be away from my post on that particular evening."
"Some stupid parish tea, I suppose."
"Yes, it is our parish tea; and I told the Vicar weeks ago that nothing should induce me to fail him."