"Yes, at St. Pancras," said the landlady.
Greta's happiness overflowed. She took the old woman in her arms and kissed her wizened cheeks.
"Wait a minute—only a minute," she said, and tripped off with the swift glide of a lapwing. But when she was half-way up the stairs her ardor was arrested, and she returned with drooping face and steps of lead.
"But why did he not come for me himself?" she asked.
"The gentleman is not well—he is ill," said Mrs. Drayton.
"Ill? You say he is ill? Then he could not come. And I blamed him for not coming!"
"The gentleman is weak, but noways worse; belike he will go straight off and meet you at the station."
Greta turned away once again, and went upstairs slowly. At a door on the first landing she tapped lightly, and when a voice answered from within she entered the room.
The superior was on her knees at a table. She lifted a calm and spiritual face as Greta approached.
"Reverend mother," said Greta, "I am leaving you this moment."