I am writing in my new bedroom. The French windows open on a broad wooden balcony facing the sea. The furniture is brand new--as new as the villa garden, with its glaring paths of chalk-chippings bordering an oblong of wiry grass and lean, shivery shrubs.
If Ruddington rode into Derlingham, he would get the letter this morning, about a quarter to ten. At half-past two a telegram arrived at the Hôtel du Dauphin, addressed to Susan. Happily, he had the tact to hand it in at Miller's Bridge where Susan isn't known. Susan brought the unopened message to me with a scared face. I took it, and this is what I read aloud:--
TO MISS BRIGGS,
HÔTEL DU DAUPHIN,
SAINTE VÉRONIQUE,
FRANCE.
I am crossing to-night, and shall reach Sainte Véronique to-morrow at 6 p.m.
RUDDINGTON.
Susan snatched the paper out of my hand with a cry of dismay.
"Oh, Miss!" she moaned, letting it fall on the grass, "whatever shall we do?"