“We are bordering upon the forbidden subject,” she reminded him, with a look which was almost reproachful. “You must please believe me when I tell you, that for me things have already been arranged otherwise. Come, I want you to tell me all about this country into which we are going. You must remember that to me it is all new!”
He suffered her to lead the conversation into other channels, with a vague feeling of disquiet. The mystery which hung around the girl and her uncle seemed only to grow denser as his desire to penetrate it grew. At present, at any rate, he was baffled. He dared ask no more questions.
The train glided into Peterborough station before either of them were well aware that they had entered in earnest upon the journey. Wolfenden looked out of the window with amazement.
“Why, we are nearly half way there!” he exclaimed. “How wretched!”
She smiled, and took up a magazine. Wolfenden’s servant came respectfully to the window.
“Can I get you anything, my lord?” he inquired.
Wolfenden shook his head, and opening the door, stepped out on to the platform.
“Nothing, thanks, Selby,” he said. “You had better get yourself some lunch. We don’t get to Deringham until four o’clock.”
The man raised his hat and turned away. In a moment, however, he was back again.
“You will pardon my mentioning it, my lord,” he said, “but the young lady’s maid has been travelling in my carriage, and a nice fidget she’s been in all the way. She’s been muttering to herself in French, and she seems terribly frightened about something or other. The moment the train stopped here, she rushed off to the telegraph office.”