Alone in the body of a touring-car, Helena Tankerville, a slender and
fair woman in white, as cool and fresh to look upon as the day was hot
and weary to endure, consulted her bracelet-watch, shrugged recklessly,
and lifted her parasol an inch or so to enable her to level an imperious
stare at the point where the straight, shining lines of railroad track
debouched from the western woodland; as if expecting the very strength
of her impatience to conjure into sight the overdue train.
She was very pretty and prettily dressed and sure of herself; there were
evidences of temper and determination mixed with disquietude in her
manner; and there was no one in her present neighbourhood (except
possibly her chauffeur) of whose existence she considered it worth her
while to be aware. None the less, she was conscious that she was
visible. . . .
A faint puff of vapour bellied above the distant screen of pines.
Immediately a far, mellow, prolonged hoot turned all faces toward the
west. A rakish, low-lying locomotive with a long tail of coaches emerged
from the woodland and, breathing forth vast volumes of smoke, fled a
pursuing cloud of dust, straight as an arrow to the station; where,
panting with triumph and relief, as one having won a race, it drew in
beside the platform.
Incontinently, upwards of two hundred people, the majority of them men
in apparently comfortable circumstances, well dressed to the standards
of summer negligence, swarmed out of the cars and ran hither and yon,
heedlessly elbowing one another and gabbling vociferously as they sought
accommodation in the long rank of station-wagons, 'buses, surreys,
smartly appointed traps, and motor-cars.
Helena, bending forward, overlooked them all with imperceptible disdain.
The face she sought was not among those that swam in review beneath her.
And presently encountering an overbold glance, she drew back with a
little frown of annoyance. Already the throng was thinning; conveyances
laden to the guards were drawing out of the rank and rattling and
rumbling off through stifling drifts of dust; no more passengers were
issuing from the coaches; and already the parlour-car porters were
picking up their stools and preparing to swing back aboard the train.
The conductor waved his final signal. The bell tolled its warning. The
locomotive belched black smoke and cinders and amid stentorian puffings
began to move, the coaches following to their tune of clanking
couplings. No sign of her refractory nephew. And still Helena hesitated
to give the order to drive home; John had telephoned; it wasn't like him
to be delinquent in his promises.
The end of the last car was passing her when she saw him. He appeared
suddenly on the rearmost platform, with the startled expression and air
of a Jack-in-the-box; dropped his suit-case over the rear rail; ran down
the steps; delayed an instant to gauge distance and speed: and with nice
calculation dropped lightly to the ground.
Pausing only to recover his luggage, he approached the motor-car with a
sheepish smile for his handsome young aunt, who regarded him with an air
of mingled bewilderment and despair.
"Wel-l!" she exclaimed, as soon as he was near enough to hear--"of _all_
things--!"
"Right you are!" he affirmed gravely, tossing his handbag into the car
and following it. "Kick along, Davy," he added, with a nod to the
chauffeur; and gracefully sank back upon the seat beside Helena.
Purring, the car began to grope its way through the dust-fog. Matthias
turned twinkling eyes to his aunt. She compressed her lips and shook her
head helplessly.
"Words inadequate, aunty?"
"Quite!" she said. "_What_ were you doing on that train, to come so near
forgetting the station?"
"Thinking," he explained: "wrapped in profound and exhaustive
meditation. I say, how stunning you look!"
She gave him up; or one inferred as much from her gesture.
"You're impossible," she said in a tragic voice. "Thinking!... While _I_
had to wait there and be ogled by all those odious men!"
"You must've been ready to sink through the ground."