“Not for ten years, sir,” the maid replied.
“Of course; I had forgotten my long absence. A very nice and quiet town, is it not?”
He turned to a newspaper that lay near him, hoping that the girl would take the hint and retire; but it was not often that so handsome a gentleman talked to her, and she endeavored to continue the conversation.
“Yes, very quiet,” she said; “rather too quiet to my liking, sir, though, of course, we do get a bit of sensation sometimes in connection with the gentry. Now, the best bit for years is the disappearance of Sir Harold Annesley, and everybody is talking about it.”
Fortunately for Sir Harold, another customer came in, and he hastily finished his beer.
His thoughts reverted to Theresa, and he regretted that he had left her without a word about his intentions.
He jumped up, said “Good-morning” to the buxom maid, and left the house.
He strode rapidly through the town, unaware that he was being followed by a spare little man, whose face betrayed emotions of the most violent and complex kind.
Once out of the town, Sir Harold’s long legs took quicker and longer strides, and the little man began to run. He panted painfully for a little while, and then cried:
“Master! Master!”