“To be sure, little woman, come along,” he said.
He took her hand and they went upstairs together. They passed through the beautiful bedroom into Rowton’s dressing-room. He thrust a few things into his Gladstone bag, then turned and took his wife in his arms.
“How much I must love you,” he said, “when I feel it horrible even to part for a few hours.”
“Can I not come with you?” she asked suddenly; “why should not I go to London with you this afternoon?”
“No, darling, it is best not. I shall have to leave you at times, sweetheart, and we must both get accustomed to the thing. Now I must say farewell. I’ll soon be back. Adieu, darling, adieu.”
Rowton ran downstairs, and Nancy watched him from the window of the dressing-room as he drove rapidly away.
He arrived at Pitstow Station a moment before the train was starting. He saw Scrivener pacing up and down the platform, but neither man, by word or glance, recognised the other. Rowton travelled first-class to town—Scrivener third. In due course they arrived at King’s Cross, when both men again went their several ways. Rowton drove to a small hotel in the neighbourhood of the Strand. It was a comfortable, cleanly place, but very unpretending and plain. He ordered something to eat and then went out into the Strand. He amused himself buying one or two trifles for Nancy. He then went to his club, the Shelton, where he smoked a cigar, and chatted with two or three men, who were all delighted to see him again. He invited several of his friends to stay at Rowton Heights, and altogether was much cheered by his time at the club.
“Lucky for you, Rowton, to be back in the old place once more,” said Charlie Danvers, a gay young Guardsman. Rowton had been at school with him.
“Wish I could clear off all my mortgages, and come in for my own,” said another man, whose name was Halliburton.
“I have heard a lot of your diggings, Rowton,” said a third; “the best place in the county; shall be delighted to accept your invitation. What time did you say?”