Priscilla was really very tired. She slept a good deal during the night, all of which time they had the carriage to themselves. But in the morning some fresh travellers entered their compartment, and Mr Manchuri had no opportunity of saying a word in private to Priscilla until they were on their way to London. When, however, they had crossed the Channel, the first thing he did was to engage a private coupé on the express train, and soon, as they were whirling away towards the great centre of life and commerce, he was once again alone with his young companion.
“Now, my dear,” he said, “you will just forgive me for asking you a plain question.”
“I am sure I will, Mr Manchuri,” said Priscilla. “You have been most, most kind to me.”
“We shall arrive in London,” said Mr Manchuri, “at five o’clock. Now, may I ask where you intend to go for the night?”
“I will send a telegram to my schoolmistress, Mrs Lyttelton, and then take the next train to Hendon,” was Priscilla’s remark.
“But is your schoolmistress at home?”
“I do not know; but somebody will be.”
“Do you want to go back to school in the holidays?”
“Not very specially; but I must go, so there is no use talking about it. I felt so bewildered yesterday that I did not send a telegram, as I might have done. But I know the servants can put me up, and it will be all right—and you have been, oh! so kind, Mr Manchuri.”
“Not at all, my dear Priscilla; not at all. The fact is, I have never enjoyed a journey so much; your company has given me real pleasure. And now what do you say—”