Rowcliffe was now beginning to form that other habit (which was to
make him even more remarkable than he was already), the hunting down
of Gwendolen Cartaret in the open.
He was annoyed with Gwendolen Cartaret. When she had all the rest of
the week to walk in she would set out on Wednesdays before teatime and
continue until long after dark. He had missed her twice now. And on
the third Wednesday he saw her swinging up the hill toward Upthorne as
he, leaving his surgery, came round the corner of the village by the
bridge.
"I believe," he thought, "she's doing it on purpose. To avoid me."
He was determined not to be avoided.
* * * * *
"The doctor's very late this afternoon," said Mary. "I suppose he's
been sent for somewhere."
Alice said nothing. She couldn't trust herself to speak. She lived in
sickening fear that on some Wednesday afternoon he would be sent for.
It had never happened yet, but that made it all the more likely that
it had happened now.
They waited till five; till a quarter-past.
"I really can't wait any longer," said Mary, "for a man who doesn't
come."
* * * * *
By that time Rowcliffe and Gwenda were far on the road to Upthorne.
He had overtaken her about a hundred yards above the schoolhouse,
before the road turned to Upthorne Moor.
"I say, how you do sprint up these hills!"
She turned.
"Is that you, Dr. Rowcliffe?"
"Of course it's me. Where are you off to?"
"Upthorne. Anywhere."
"May I come too?"
"If you want to."
"Of course I want to."
"Have you had any tea?"
"No."
"Weren't they in?"
"I didn't stop to ask."
"Why not?"
"Because I saw you stampeding on in front of me, and I swore I'd
overtake you before you got round that corner. And I have overtaken
you."
"Shall we go back? We've time."