Appleton flung the contents of his portmanteau into his closet, rid himself of the dust of travel, made a quick change, and in less than forty minutes was at the door of Miss Tucker’s lodgings.
She had a little sitting-room on the first floor, and his loud rat-a-tat brought her to the door instead of the parlor-maid.
At the unexpected sight of him she turned pale.
“Why—why, I thought it was the luggage-man. Where did you come from?” she stammered.
“From London, an hour ago. I met Mrs. Kennion on my way from the station.”
“Oh! Then she told you I am going home?”
“Yes, she told me. How could you go to America without saying good-bye, Miss Tommy?”
She flushed and looked perilously near tears.
“I wrote to you this morning as soon as I had decided,” she said. “I don’t like to dart off in this way, you can imagine, but it’s a question of must.”
He did not argue this with her; that was a bridge to be crossed when a better understanding had been reached; so, as if taking the journey as an inexorable fact, he said: “Come out and dine with me somewhere, and let us have a good talk.”