So there was nothing more to do. My suit-case was packed, and when the time came to a quarter past two I got into a hansom and drove to the station.
Almost as soon as I got there, Viola drove up, punctual to the minute.
She knew her own value to men too well to try and enhance it by always being late for an appointment as so many women do.
She looked fresh and lovely in palest grey, her rose-tinted face radiant with excitement.
"I haven't kept you waiting, have I?" was her first exclamation after our greeting.
"I had so much work to do for Aunt Mary all the morning, I thought I should not have time to really get off myself."
"No, you haven't kept me waiting," I answered; "and, if you had, it would not have mattered. You know I would wait all day for you."
She glanced up with a wonderful light-filled smile that set every cell in my body singing with delight, and we went down the platform to choose our carriage.
When the train started from Charing Cross the day was dull and heavy-looking; warm, without sunshine. But after an hour's run from town we got into an atmosphere of crystal and gold and the Kentish fruit trees stretched round us a sea of pink and white foam under a cloudless sky.
When we stepped out at our destination, a little sleepy country station, the air seemed like nectar to us. It was the breath of May, real merry, joyous English May at the height of her wayward, uncertain beauty.