“He looked very serious,” said Miss Webster. “I am sure I hope nothing is wrong?”
“Perhaps it has come out about their marriage, and he has quarreled with his uncle?” suggested Miss Eliza.
In the meanwhile John Temple was driving back to his hotel, his thoughts still dwelling very tenderly on May.
“I will make it all up to her,” he was thinking; “my little Mayflower shall never regret her choice, nor her love.”
He had grown almost cheerful by the time he had reached the hotel.
“After all, it was dull enough at Woodlea,” he was reflecting; “and I can’t quite understand Mrs. Temple’s attitude. We shall be happier out of it all; out of civilization for awhile—I think I shall like a different life.”
He soon arrived at the hotel, paid his cab fare, and then ran lightly up the staircase, after giving May’s portmanteau to one of the waiters to carry. He knew the number of the sitting-room where he had left May, as he was well-acquainted with the hotel, and when he reached the door he opened it without rapping. One glance round the room told him it was empty. But this did not make him uneasy.
“She has been too tired to sit up,” he thought, “and has gone to bed,” and he turned round to the waiter who was following him with the portmanteau and asked the number of the bedroom he had engaged.
The man told him, and John Temple took the portmanteau from his hand and went in the direction the waiter indicated. When he arrived at the bedroom door he rapped, but there was no answer. Then he opened the door and went in, but, like the sitting-room, he found it empty.
“You have made a mistake; this is not the room,” he said, sharply, to the waiter, who was still following him.