How far she walked she never knew, but her feet were getting stiff and tired when at last she saw the lights of the junction in the distance. Nevertheless, she could not rest when she was in the station. She spent the time waiting for the train to come in restlessly pacing the platform.
It was about half-past six when she reached London, and put herself into a cab. The horse seemed as tired as herself, and the journey from the station interminable, but at last she had alighted at the familiar little house.
Her heart was in her throat as she rang the bell.
"Perhaps I shall have to wait a little while," she said to herself. "They never get up very early."
But, strangely enough, the door was opened to her almost immediately by the cook, whose face lit up when she saw Caroline.
"Oh, miss, I am glad to see you!" she said. "I've had such a start. He's upstairs in the drawing-room. If you'll believe me, he's been here since a quarter to six. Wouldn't be said no! But how tired you look, miss! Come in and sit down."
Caroline could not get her voice for a moment. Vaguely she remarked a strapped portmanteau standing on one of the chairs. Then she asked—
"Mrs. Lancing, is she here?"
The servant shook her head.
"No, miss, she's not here. That's what I've been telling Sir Samuel. He won't believe me. He says she's coming."