Chapter Twenty Two.
Man Masters.
“At last!” muttered Chester, as he stood, pale and careworn, leaning upon the iron rail in the Row, watching the carriages slowly filing by, or stopping from time to time.
For after days and days of watching, he was once more about to give up in despair and venture, in spite of all rebuffs, upon another call at the house, when in the distance he caught sight of the Clareborough’s light victoria approaching, and to his great delight he found that it only contained one occupant.
He hesitated for a few moments as to what he should do—wait, or advance to meet it, and decided now upon a bold attack, for every nerve was on the strain.
“I will not be put off this time,” he said to himself. “She shall acknowledge me.”
As he approached his heart began to beat fast and he gazed upon the elegantly-dressed figure leaning carelessly back with her face shaded by the tinted parasol she held, and, as yet unobserved, Chester saw that she looked pale, troubled and weary, her half-closed eyes dreamy and thoughtful.
Fate favoured him, for there was a block somewhere ahead, and the horses were stopped only a few yards away.
He passed under the rail, walked up quickly, still unobserved, till his hand was upon the carriage door.
“Marion!” he whispered.