"I don't know," he said, "that it wouldn't be better to stick the week-end out at Baronrigg, and then come back alone, and have you all to myself."
Your true lover is an uncompromising egotist. Marjorie at once recognised the superiority of Roy's view.
"All right," she said. "There's the whistle! Get into the train, little man. Send me a telegram when you arrive."
She watched the long train crawl out of sight, and went back to the flat with a hungry heart. Six days! And she had to give him up for three of them! Still, it was the game.
But she had not to wait so long. Roy burst into the flat about noon the very next day—to the entire bouleversement of Liss, who was a dilatory dresser. Redirected by her (from behind the bathroom door) he sought Marjorie at the canteen, dragged her almost forcibly out to lunch, and communicated his news in a breath.
"Baronrigg is closed up tight! Has been for six weeks! Dad put all his affairs into order at the beginning of last month, and disappeared!"
"Disappeared? What do you mean?"
"Well, he simply shut up the house, gave what servants were left by the war a year's wages, walked to the station, and took the train for London. He hasn't been heard of since."
"But where has he gone?"
"Nobody knows!"