(2) He would be in all Sunday.
(3) She must see him before Monday's matinée.
Her way instantaneously seemed to grow clear and hard, like a path on ice. Perhaps Cyprian had escaped the rules of captivity away there among his lonely scattered mines.
Cyprian, who had come to her rescue in nursery-days when Hell loomed before her in the glowing grate, near the yawning tomb of the toy-cupboard and when the night-light, which should have illumined the tired pilgrim's path to a Heaven of sunny dreams, had blown out.... "And ... you will always like me best, Cyprian?" ... "Of course ... Of course."
If anyone could now prevent the barred gates from closing upon her, it must be Cyprian. If he failed she would go to the matinée, thought Ferlie. It would not matter where she went, if Cyprian failed.
"But," protested Margery, later, "I thought you were motoring up with Dad on Monday? The only possible train from here on Sunday does not reach town till just before dinner."
"It will do quite well," said Ferlie. "And I really must go."
At the station Margery launched her parting shaft.
"Good-bye ... My Lady! ... Remember, you can be happy, plus money, with many a person whom you could not live beside for an hour in a little cottage with roses round the door."
And she slammed down the window of the compartment for the traveller's last gestures of farewell.