Fulvia dropped into the nearest chair, and Anice cried out at the contact of her wet clothes with the furniture. Fulvia did not care for that; but she did care for the curious questioning look in Daisy's eyes, fixed upon herself.
"Why didn't he send you home in a fly?" asked Anice.
"I did not want to wait. Where is Nigel?"
"Downstairs."
"Not in the study; I have been there."
"Then he must have gone out. I heard the front door open and shut."
Fulvia rose, and dragged herself upstairs without another word. There, on the chest of drawers, stood, as before, her two boxes. She tried both with trembling fingers.
Too late! The new box was locked, the old one unlocked and empty! Daisy had done her work.
Hoping still against hope, Fulvia loosened the looking-glass in the lid, and peeped behind it. No crumpled paper was there. She snatched her keys from the table drawer, and opened the other box, to see if perchance Daisy had passed on the postscript with the trinkets. Daisy's neat arrangements were tossed into reckless disorder in the search. But Fulvia looked in vain; the half-sheet had vanished.
Too late! All her hurry and toil for nothing. And Nigel had gone out? Had Daisy given him the paper? Sick with fear, Fulvia removed her wet things, dressed herself in dry clothes, and smoothed her ruffled hair. Then, on shaking limbs, she crept down to the study to await Nigel's return, like a culprit awaiting judgment.