Doors were slamming; porters were shouting. May had only just time to spring into the carriage.
"Yes!" she exclaimed, with her head at the window. Dyce doffed his hat. They smiled at each other, May's visage flushed and agitated, and the train whirled away.
In the carriage awaiting Miss Tomalin at Hollingford station sat Constance Bride.
"A horrible journey!" May exclaimed, taking a seat beside her. "No seat in a through carriage at St. Pancras. Had to change at the junction. Somebody in the train had a fit, or something—no wonder, with such heat! But it's cooler here. Have you had a storm?"
The footman, who had been looking after luggage, stepped up to the carriage door and spoke to Miss Bride. He said there was a rumour in the station that Mr. Robb, travelling by this train, had been seized with apoplexy on the way.
"Mr. Robb!" exclaimed Constance. "Then he was the person you spoke of?"
"I suppose so," May answered. "Queer thing!"
They drove off. Constance gazed straight before her, thinking intently.
"If the attack is fatal," said May, "we shall have an election at once."
"Yes," fell from her companion's lips mechanically.