"Confound women!" he muttered, vainly trying to light the last of his cigarettes; "you can never count upon them. I would have sworn that she would have made for the station; and yet she hasn't. She's waiting to see Blair, after all. Well, I'll go and see. There'll be a scene presently, if she remains, and I hate a scene!"
With his coat-collar turned up he climbed to the cottage and knocked.
There was no answer; and after waiting and knocking again, he opened the door.
To his amazement, the cottage seemed deserted. He was calling Mrs. Day impatiently, when a woman came running with her apron over her head from the neighboring cottage.
"Mrs. Day's out, sir. She's gone down to the beach," she said in answer to his inquiries, "and I've got the children with me. It's lonely for 'em here, and such a storm raging."
"But—but Mrs. Stanley?" he said quickly; "she's in, is she not?"
The woman stared at him.
"Mrs. Stanley, sir—the lady, sir? Oh, no; she went out hours ago."
"Nonsense!" he said roughly. "I beg your pardon; I mean that it is impossible that she should be out in this storm."