Allingford gazed at her silently for a moment, and meditatively scratched his head; then he paid and dismissed the amazed boy, and finally picked up the crumpled bit of paper. It was from the station-master at Basingstoke, and read as follows:
"Parties mentioned left in second division for Southampton and South Coast Resorts. Destination not known."
It was incomprehensible, but he had expected it. If Mr. Scarsdale had remained at Basingstoke he would certainly have telegraphed them from there at their first stop, Salisbury. Evidently he, too, had been carried away on the train; but where? It was some relief to know that his wife was not wholly alone, but he did not at all like the idea of her going off into space with another man, and the fact that he had done the same thing himself was no consolation. Then his mind reverted to Mrs. Scarsdale, who still wept on the tomb of the crusader. What in thunder was he going to do with her? To get her back to her aunt in London at that time of night was out of the question; but where else could he take her?
This point, however, was settled at once, and in an unexpected manner, by the lady herself. Drying her eyes, she remarked suddenly: "I'm a little fool!"
"Not at all," he replied; "your emotion is quite natural under the circumstances."
"But crying won't get us out of this awful predicament."
"Unfortunately no, or we should have arrived at a solution long ago."
"That," remarked the lady, "is merely another way of making a statement which you just now disputed. I am a little fool, and I mean to dry my eyes and attend strictly to business. Tell me exactly what this message implies."
"It means," said the Consul, "that it is impossible for you to rejoin your husband to-night."
Her lip quivered dangerously; but she controlled herself sufficiently to exclaim: "But what are we to do?"