At breakfast next morning my father told me that something unexpected
had occurred to require that we should return home immediately, and
therefore he had sent over to Cook's for seats by the noon express.
I was deeply disappointed, but I knew my father too well to demur, so I
slipped away to my room and sent a letter to Martin, explaining the
change in our plans and saying good-bye to him.
When we reached the station, however, I found Martin waiting on the
platform in front of the compartment that was labelled with our name.
I thought my father was even more brusque with him than before, and the
Bishop, who was to travel with us, was curt almost to rudeness. But
Martin did not seem to mind that this morning, for his lower lip had the
stiff setting which I had seen in it when he was a boy, and after I
stepped into the carriage he stepped in after me, leaving the two men on
the platform.
"Shall you be long away?" I asked.
"Too long unfortunately. Six months, nine--perhaps twelve, worse luck!
Wish I hadn't to go at all," he answered.
I was surprised and asked why, whereupon he stammered some excuse, and
then said abruptly:
"I suppose you'll not be married for some time at all events?"