Appleton flung the contents of his portmanteau into his closet, rid
himself of the dust of travel, made a quick change, and in less than
forty minutes was at the door of Miss Tucker's lodgings.
She had a little sitting-room on the first floor, and his loud
rat-a-tat brought her to the door instead of the parlor-maid.
At the unexpected sight of him she turned pale.
"Why--why, I thought it was the luggage-man. Where did you come from?"
she stammered.
"From London, an hour ago. I met Mrs. Kennion on my way from the
station."
"Oh! Then she told you I am going home?"
"Yes, she told me. How could you go to America without saying
good-bye, Miss Tommy?"
She flushed and looked perilously near tears.
"I wrote to you this morning as soon as I had decided," she said. "I
don't like to dart off in this way, you can imagine, but it's a
question of must."
He did not argue this with her; that was a bridge to be crossed when a
better understanding had been reached; so, as if taking the journey as
an inexorable fact, he said: "Come out and dine with me somewhere, and
let us have a good talk."
"I'm afraid I can't. I'm eating now on a tray in my sitting-room,"--and
she waved a table napkin she was holding in her hand. "I am rather
tired, and Miss Scattergood gave me some bacon and an egg from the nest."
"Give the bacon to the cat and put back the egg in the nest," he said
coaxingly. "Mrs. Kennion said: 'Don't let her eat her last dinner
alone. Take her to the Swan.'"
"Oh, I am only in my traveling-clothes and the Swan is full of
strangers to-night."
"The Green Dragon, then, near the cathedral. You look dressed for
Buckingham Palace."
She hesitated a moment, and then melted at the eagerness of his wish.
"Well, then, if you'll wait five minutes."
"Of course; I'll go along to the corner and whistle a hansom from the
stand. Don't hurry!"
The mental processes of Miss Thomasina Tucker had been very confused
during the excitement of the last twenty-four hours.
That she loved Fergus Appleton she was well aware since the arrival of
the cablegram calling her back to America. Up to that time she had
fenced with her love--parried it, pricked it, thrust it off, drawn it
back, telling herself that she had plenty of time to meet the issue if
it came. That Fergus Appleton loved her she was also fairly well
convinced, but that fact did not always mean--everything--she told
herself, with a pitiful little attempt at worldly wisdom. Perhaps he
preferred his liberty to any woman; perhaps he did not want to settle
down; perhaps he was engaged to some one whom he didn't care for now,
but would have to marry; perhaps he hadn't money enough to share with
a wife; perhaps he was a flirt--no, she would not admit that for an
instant. Anyway, she was alone in the world, and the guardian of her
own dignity. If she could have allowed matters to drift along in the
heavenly uncertainty of these last days, there would have been no
problem; but when she was forced to wake from her delicious dream and
fly from everything that held her close and warm, fly during Fergus
Appleton's absence, without his knowledge or consent--that indeed was
heart-breaking. And still her pride showed her but the one course. She
was alone in the world and without means save those earned by her own
exertions. A living income was offered her in America and she must
take it or leave it on the instant. She could not telegraph Fergus
Appleton in London and acquaint him with her plans, as if they
depended on him for solution; she could only write him a warm and
friendly good-bye. If he loved her as much as a man ought who loved at
all, he had time to follow her to Southampton before her ship sailed.
If business kept him from such a hurried journey, he could ask her to
marry him in a sixpenny wire, reply paid. If he neither came nor
wired, but sent a box of mignonette to the steamer with his card and
"Bon voyage" written on it, she would bury something unspeakably dear
and precious that had only just been born--bury it, and plant
mignonette over it. And she could always sing! Thank Heaven for the
gift of song!
This was Tommy's mood when she was packing her belongings, after
hearing the bishop say that Appleton could not return till noon next
day. It had changed a trifle by the time that Fergus had gone to the
corner to whistle for a hansom. Her gray frieze jacket and skirt were
right enough when she hastily slipped on a better blouse with a deep
embroidered collar, pinned with Helena Markham's parting gift of an
emerald clover-leaf. Her gray straw hat had a becoming band of flat
green leaves, and she had a tinge of color. (Nothing better for roses
in the cheeks than hurrying to be ready for the right man.) Anyway,
such beauty as Tommy had was always there, and when she came to the
door she smote Appleton's eyes as if she were "the first beam from the
springing east."
Once in the hansom, they talked gayly. They dared not stop, indeed,
for when they kept on whipping the stream they forgot the depth of the
waters underneath.
* * * * *
Meantime the Green Dragon, competitor of the Swan, had great need of
their lavish and interesting patronage.
The Swiss head waiter, who was new to Wells, was a man of waxed
mustaches and sleepless ambitions. The other hotels had most of the
tourists, but he intended to retrieve the fortunes of his employer,
and bring prosperity back to the side streets. He adored his vocation,
and would have shed his heart's blood on the altar of any dining-room
of which he had charge.
There were nine tables placed about the large room, though not more
than three had been occupied in his tenure of office; but all were
beautifully set with flowers and bright silver and napkins in
complicated foldings. Pasteboard cards with large black numbers from
one to eight stood erect on eight of the tables, and on the ninth an
imposing placard bore the sign: