The Warbeach villagers waited for Lady Elling's carriage to roll away, and with a last glance at Robert, they too went off in gossiping groups. Robert's penance was over, and he could not refrain from asking what good his coming to church had done.
“I can't assist you,” said Percy. “By the way, Mr. Blancove denies everything. He thinks you mad. He promises, now that you have adopted reasonable measures, to speak to his cousin, and help, as far as he can, to discover the address you are in search of.”
“That's all?” cried Robert.
“That is all.”
“Then where am I a bit farther than when I began?”
“You are only at the head of another road, and a better one.”
“Oh, why do I ever give up trusting to my right hand—” Robert muttered.
But the evening brought a note to him from Algernon Blancove. It contained a dignified condemnation of Robert's previous insane behaviour, and closed by giving Dahlia's address in London.
“How on earth was this brought about?” Robert now questioned.
“It's singular, is it not?” said Major blaring; “but if you want a dog to follow you, you don't pull it by the collar; and if you want a potato from the earth, you plant the potato before you begin digging. You are a soldier by instinct, my good Robert: your first appeal is to force. I, you see, am a civilian: I invariably try the milder methods. Do you start for London tonight? I remain. I wish to look at the neighbourhood.”