MISS DAVENANT,
The Hall,
Jevington,
Sussex.
Edward glanced round; he was still alone. He put the letters in his
pocket and went back to the coffee-room. Charles's attentions had been
directed, in his absence, to the waiter, who had thus been detained from
his duties.
"Any one else lunching here to-day?" he asked, restraining Charles.
"Mostly over by now, sir," said the waiter. "That dog--dangerous, ain't
he, sir?"
"Not a bit," said Edward; "he only took a fancy to you."
"Wouldn't let me pass--like," said the waiter.
"Only his play," said Edward. "He merely wants his dinner. You've been
rather a long time bringing his biscuits. I expect he thought you'd got
them in your pocket."
"Sorry, sir," the waiter said, and explained that, being single-handed
at that hour, he had had to attend to the other party's lunch, "in the
garden, sir," he added, "though why the garden when everything's nice
and ready in here--to say nothing of earwigs in your glass, and beetles,
and everything to be carried half a mile--" He ceased abruptly.
"I should like to see the garden," said Edward, "while I'm waiting."
"Lunch ready directly, sir," said the waiter. "Hardly worth while to
have it out there now, sir--"
"Which way?" Edward asked, and was told. He went through the hall, under
a vine-covered trellis, and the garden blazed before him--a really
charming garden, all green and red and yellow; beyond the lawn was an
arbor with a light network of hops above it. In that arbor was a
white-spread table. There was also movement; people were seated at the
table.
Edward stood in the sunshine between two tall vases overflowing with
nasturtiums and lobelias and opened his letter.
"Good-by," it said, "and thank you a thousand times. I shall never
forget your kindness. But when I had time to think I saw that it wasn't
fair to you. But you showed me the way out of the trap. And, now I am
free, I can go on by myself. I don't want to drag you into any bother
there may be. It would be a poor return for your kindness."