A warning whistle, and the train moved away.
“Of course they could join the Saxon at Southampton, for John would not wish to be seen. Could we get there in time?” Lady Mildred cried excitedly.
“At any rate we can try,” Lady Ethel answered eagerly. And then began a mad race to the port. She urged the chauffeur to full speed, and the powerful car tore along the road. Once or twice a policeman held up a warning hand, but they went on heedlessly until they reached the dock gates.
“Has the Saxon sailed?” they asked anxiously.
“Just about starting,” was the answer.
Now their progress was tantalizingly slow, and when at last the wharf came in sight, they saw that the ropes had been thrown off and that the big liner was moving towards Southampton water.
But Lady Mildred’s eyes were fixed on the upper deck, and she could just make out the figure of a man leaning against the rails. There were field-glasses in the car, and with trembling fingers she focused them.
“It is John, and we are too late,” she said with a gasp.
But she would not give way, and turned to her sister her face white and her lips trembling.
“Our yacht the Heron is lying here. She can be commissioned in a few days,” she said very quietly.