“We really cannot say how late she will be, Miss Nora. I may tell you, but we are not saying anything about it, that there has been an accident.”
“An accident!” exclaimed Nora. “Why, we are expecting—”
“No, there is no one hurt. A freight has been derailed, and torn up the track a bit. The passenger train is held up just beyond Fairfield. It will be a couple of hours, perhaps three, before she arrives.” At this point the telegraph instrument clicked. “Just a minute, Miss Nora, there may be something on the wire.” With his fingers on the key he executed some mysterious prestidigitations, wrote down some words, and came to the wicket again. “Funny,” he said, “it is a wire for you, Miss Nora.”
Nora took the yellow slip and read: “Delayed by derailed freight. Time of arrival uncertain. Very sorry, Jane.”
“What do you think of this?” cried Nora, carrying the telegram out to the car. “Isn't it perfectly exasperating? That takes off one of their nights.”
“Where is the accident?” inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Just above Fairfield.”
“Fairfield! The poor things! Jump in and we will be there in no time. It is not much further to Wolf Willow from Fairfield than from here. Hurry up, we must make time.”
“Now, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, I know your driving. Just remember that I am an only son. I prefer using all four wheels on curves, please.”
“Let her go,” cried Nora.