On leaving Pall Mall Godfrey took a cab to Bond Street, and for upward of an hour paced religiously up and down that fashionable thoroughfare. Then, taking another cab, he drove to Euston, where he spent at least three-quarters of an hour inspecting the various trains that passed in and out of the station, pottering about the bookstalls, and glaring at the travellers who approached him. As every one is aware who lives in the neighbourhood, there is only one good train in the afternoon that stops at Detwich, hence his reason for going to the station at that hour. As the time approached for that train to leave, he grew more and more nervous, and when the train itself at length backed into the station to take up its passengers, his anxiety became almost pitiable to watch. Placing himself near the bookstall, he scrutinized every passenger who approached him. At last he became aware of two figures, who were making their way leisurely along the platform in search of an empty carriage. One was Lady Devereux, tall, gray-haired, and eminently dignified; her companion there is no need to describe. It struck Godfrey, as he watched her, that never in his life had he seen so pretty a face or figure. Nerving himself to carry out the operation he had in mind, he strolled down the platform, then turning, walked back along the train, glancing into the various carriages as he passed, until he reached that in which the two ladies were seated. Then, as if he were more than surprised at seeing them, he lifted his hat.
“How do you do, Lady Devereux?” he said. “This is an altogether unexpected meeting!” Then, having saluted the younger lady, he inquired whether they would permit him to travel down with them.
“Do so, by all means,” Lady Devereux replied. “Molly and I have been obliged to put up with each other’s company since the early morning. But how is it that you are not hunting to-day, Mr. Henderson?”
“An old friend has just returned from America,” Godfrey remarked, “and he invited me to lunch with him. Otherwise I should have been out, of course.”
Whether Miss Molly believed this statement or not I can not say, but I do not think it probable. One thing was plain; on this particular occasion she had made up her mind not to be gracious to the poor young man, and when he endeavoured to draw her into conversation, she answered him shortly, and then retired into the seclusion of her newspaper.
Why she should have treated him so it is impossible to say, but there could be no sort of doubt that she was offended at something. In consequence the poor fellow was about as miserable a specimen of the human race as could have been found in England that day. When Detwich was reached, he saw the two ladies to their carriage, and bade them good-bye. Then, mounting to the box of his own dog-cart, he sent the horse flying down the street at a pace that, had he not been well known, would in all probability have secured him an interview with a magistrate.
“And what sort of journey did you have?” inquired his mother, as she gave him a cup of tea on his arrival at the house.
“Very pleasant,” he answered, though his looks belied his assertion.
“And would you care, as you said the other day, to go back to live in London?” asked mischievous Miss Kitty.
“I think London is one of the most detestable places on earth,” he replied, stirring his tea as though he were sweeping the Metropolis into the sea.