At about three o’clock on that eventful day M’Gourley met one of Holme & Ringer’s clerks in the street.
“So your partner’s off for a holiday,” said the clerk.
“So he tells me,” replied Mac.
“He’s going pretty far afield,” went on the clerk; “Vancouver isn’t—”
“Where did you say?” cut in M’Gourley.
“Well, he’s bought two tickets for Vancouver this morning, one for his cousin and one for himself. She is married, and they are going to pick her husband up at Yokohama,” he went on, smiling slightly.
“Vancouver!” said Mac. He stood for a moment in astonishment, then hailing a passing riksha he jumped into it, and told the driver to take him to the House of the Clouds.
Campanula had just returned, she was in the garden; and when she heard his step coming up the hill path she came to the gate to meet him.
She greeted him with a smile, but there was something about her that struck M’Gourley strangely.
She had a far-away look in her face, and she wore an abstracted air. Away from the world her mind seemed wandering in some far, strange country, whilst her little body walked beside him, and her lips answered his questions, and told him things.