In running into the Junction, the train went past the platform of the branch line. A number of carriages were there, and at the side glass of one compartment he saw the profile of Beatrice.
The little cry that she gave, when he opened the door of the compartment and spoke her name, had something of terror as well as delight in it.
“Harold! How on earth—” she began.
“I have a rather important message for you,” he said. “Will you take a turn with me on the platform? There is plenty of time. The train does not start for six minutes.”
She was out of the carriage in a moment. “Mr. Wynne has a message for me—it is probably from Mrs. Lampson,” she said to her maid, who was in the same compartment.
CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE.
WHAT can be the matter? How did you manage to come here? You must have travelled by the same train as we came by. Oh, Harold, my husband, I am so glad to see you. You have changed your mind—you are coming on with me? Oh, I see it all now. You meant all along to give me this delightful surprise.”
The words came from her in a torrent as she put her hand on his arm—he could feel the ring on her finger.