I sat back in my chair, and looked her fixedly in the face.
“Did you tell him we were going there?”
“Yes, I told him.”
I said no more. Presently an uncontrollable fit of laughter began to shake me. It was too ridiculous. Was I for evermore to be haunted by this incubus with the inflated paunch and disordered head? But the moral was no less obvious than the absurdity—I could not shut my eyes to the fact. I had been crushing under in myself a sentiment which had no authority for existing. Perhaps, even, she had known all the time whither he was bound, and had manœuvred so as to induce me to follow in his footsteps. I could not quite believe that; but anyhow I felt myself handsomely made a fool of, and the thought of my own discomfiture appealed irresistibly to my sense of humour. One thing was now certain, that I might quit my conscience of any feeling of regret for my own harshness or irresponsiveness.
Fifine looked a little astonished over my hilarious reception of her thunderbolt; but she said nothing, and we finished our lunch almost in silence.
“Now,” said I, when all was done: “what time did you say our train started? You looked it out, didn’t you, as I asked you.”
“Yes,” she said. “It was at three-twenty.”
“Then we will pay our bill, collect our traps, and, by your leave, start leisurely for the station.”
All of which we did, arriving at the little terminus in ample time. It was somewhat disconcerting, however, to find the platform empty, the office closed, and no sign whatever of train or passengers.
“This is odd,” I said; but presently sighting a porter in the distance, I went to enquire of him. The result was illuminating.