XXII
Rowcliffe was now beginning to form that other habit (which was to make him even more remarkable than he was already), the hunting down of Gwendolen Cartaret in the open.
He was annoyed with Gwendolen Cartaret. When she had all the rest of the week to walk in she would set out on Wednesdays before teatime and continue until long after dark. He had missed her twice now. And on the third Wednesday he saw her swinging up the hill toward Upthorne as he, leaving his surgery, came round the corner of the village by the bridge.
"I believe," he thought, "she's doing it on purpose. To avoid me."
He was determined not to be avoided.
* * * * *
"The doctor's very late this afternoon," said Mary. "I suppose he's been sent for somewhere."
Alice said nothing. She couldn't trust herself to speak. She lived in sickening fear that on some Wednesday afternoon he would be sent for. It had never happened yet, but that made it all the more likely that it had happened now.
They waited till five; till a quarter-past.
"I really can't wait any longer," said Mary, "for a man who doesn't come."