“What does all this mean? Where’s Roland?” began Mr. Galloway, showing little more deference to her ladyship, in his flurry, than he might have shown to Roland himself.
“Did you not know he was going?” she asked.
“I know nothing. Where is he gone?”
“He has started for Port Natal; that is, he has started for London, on his way to it. He went by the eight o’clock train.”
Mr. Galloway sat down in consternation. “My lady, allow me to inquire what sort of behaviour you call this?”
“Whether it is good or bad, right or wrong, I can’t help it,” was the reply of Lady Augusta. “I’m sure I have enough to bear!” she added, melting into tears. “Of course he ought to have informed you of his intention, Mr. Galloway. I thought he did. He told me he had done so.”
A reminiscence of Roland’s communication crossed Mr. Galloway’s mind; of his words, “Don’t say I did not give you notice, sir.” He had paid no heed to it at the time.
“He is just another of my headstrong boys,” grumbled Lady Augusta. “They are all specimens of wilfulness. I never knew that it was this morning he intended to be off, until he was gone, and I had to run after him to the station. Ask Hamish Channing.”
“He must be mad!” exclaimed Mr. Galloway.
“He says great fortunes are made, out at Port Natal. I don’t know whether it is so.”