At last I came to the lodge of Heatherdale and asked if Mr. W—— was in.
He was not. He had gone by an early train to Dublin and would not be back until seven.
Oh, such a noise of falling air castles.
My letter had been to him, not to his wife.
I could not, or at least I felt that I could not present my card to her and explain that I was very much disappointed, and would Mrs. W—— kindly entertain me with intellectual talk and food and drink.
I turned sadly away and put on my raincoat (for it had begun to rain dismally as soon as the lodgekeeper had told me Mr. W—— was out) and made my way back to the station, intending to take the next train.
The urbane station master, resplendent in a gay new uniform, told me kindly but firmly that there was no train until seven o'clock, that that train did not go as far as Waterford, only to Wexford, and that my through ticket to Waterford was good for this day only and would be waste cardboard when the morning dawned, and I took the first train from Wexford there.
That meant the price of an excellent dinner thrown away——
An excellent dinner. It was twelve o'clock; time to begin to think of a dinner of some kind.