A moment later, she was hurrying along the platform, asking for the train to Ridgefield.
“Sorry, miss,” replied an official, “but you’ve just missed her,” indicating a round red light that was vanishing into a tunnel; and the runaway had lost her only opportunity of returning home that night! This discovery was a shock: she felt vanquished—and half distracted, but recovering her courage, and summoning her wits to her assistance, she made over her luggage to a porter, and departed in quest of a bedroom in the Terminus Hotel.
CHAPTER XXI
MR. BLAGDON was a late riser; on this particular morning it was eleven o’clock as he stood lathering his great sensual face, in front of a shaving-glass. The operation was but half completed, when his valet entered, and, clearing his throat, said:
“Beg pardon, sir, but Mrs. Blagdon has just arrived and is asking to see you.”
Blagdon’s somewhat shaky hand slipped, and gave his chin a gash. When he had carefully plastered it up, he turned to the man, with an alarming scowl.
“Jenkins didn’t let her in, did he?”
“Yes, sir, he did. She’s in the morning-room.”
“That’ll do!” said his master in a voice of thunder, and he continued his toilet with a determination that he would sack Jenkins instantly, and turn his wife out of the house. But before taking these drastic steps, he must breakfast. He went heavily downstairs, unfolding a large scented pocket-handkerchief, and stalked into the dining-room; here he was served with devilled kidneys, dry toast, and two strong whiskies and sodas. Thus fortified, he approached with loud, resonant footsteps, the morning-room, where the culprit awaited him in shivering expectation: and flinging the door wide, entered like an avenging fate.