‘She is in distress.’
‘She has married him.’
Sol and Picotee took their seats, Picotee upbraiding her brother. ‘I can go by myself!’ she said, in tears. ‘Do go back for Berta, Sol. She said I was to go home alone, and I can do it!’
‘You must not. It is not right for you to be hiring cabs and driving across London at midnight. Berta should have known better than propose it.’
‘She was flurried. Go, Sol!’
But her entreaty was fruitless.
‘Have you got your ticket, Mr. Julian?’ said Sol. ‘I suppose we shall go together till we get near Melchester?’
‘I have not got my ticket yet—I’ll be back in two minutes.’
The minutes went by, and Christopher did not reappear. The train moved off: Christopher was seen running up the platform, as if in a vain hope to catch it.
‘He has missed the train,’ said Sol. Picotee looked disappointed, and said nothing. They were soon out of sight.