A week of silence, and then—— It was eight in the evening. He was at the top of the house in his bedroom-study—the room in which he had woven so many gold optimisms. Down the blue oblong of sky, framed by his window, the red billiard-ball of the sun rolled smoothly, bound for the pocket of night.

A sharp rat-a-tat. Its meaning was unmistakable. He went leaping down the stairs, three at a time. He reached the hall just as Jane was appearing from the basement Forestalling her at the front-door, he grabbed the pinkish-brown envelope from the telegraph-boy. Ripping it open, he read:

“Sorry delay. Been Lucerne. Just returned Paris. Received all yours. Meet me to-morrow Cherbourg on board ‘Wilhelm der Grosse.’ Please start immediately.”

She had forgotten to put her address. He pulled out his watch. Five minutes past eight! He had no time to consult railway-guides—no time even to pack. All he knew was that the boat-train left Charing-Cross for Dover in less than an hour; he could just catch it Returning to his bedroom, he gathered together what cash he could find In three minutes he was in the hall again.

“Tell mother when she comes back that I’m off to Paris. Tell her I’ll write.”

Jane gaped at him. As he hurried down the steps, she began to ask questions. He shook his head, “No time.”

Throwing dignity to the winds, he set off at a run. As he passed Orchid Lodge, Mr. Sheerug was coming out. He cannoned into him and left him gasping. At the top of Eden Row he saw a taxi and hailed it. He knew now that he was safe to catch his train.

On the drive to the station he unfolded her telegram and re-read it Irresponsible as ever, yet lovable! What risks she took! He might have been out; as it was he could barely make the connections that would get him to Cherbourg in time. No address to which he could reply! He couldn’t let her know that he was coming. Doubtless she took that for granted. No information concerning her plans! She had always told him that wise women kept men guessing. No hint as to why she had sent for him! Twenty-four hours of conjecturing would keep him humble and increase his ardor. Then the motive of all this vagueness dawned on him. She was putting him to the test If he came in spite of the irresponsibility of her message, it would be proof to her that he loved her. If ever a girl needed a man’s love, Desire was that girl.

During the tedious night journey fears began to arise. Why was she going to Cherbourg? He read her words again, “Meet me to-morrow Cherbourg on board Wilhelm der Grosse” What would she be doing on board an Atlantic liner if she wasn’t sailing? She shouldn’t sail if he could prevent her. If she reached New York, she would go on the stage and commit herself irrevocably to Fluffyism.

He steamed into the Gare du Nord at a quarter to seven and learnt, on making inquiries, that the trains for Cherbourg left from the St Lazare. He jumped into an autotaxi—no leisurely fiacre this time—and raced through the gleaming early morning. He found at the St Lazare that the first express that he could catch, departed in three-quarters of an hour. There was another which left later, but it ran to meet the steamer and was reserved exclusively for transatlantic voyagers. The second train would be the one by which she would travel. He debated whether he should try to intercept her on the platform. Too risky.

He might miss her. He preferred to take the chance which she herself had chosen. There would be less than an hour between his arrival in Cherbourg and the time when the steamship sailed.

Having snatched some breakfast, he found a florist’s and purchased an extravagant sheaf of roses.

As soon as Paris was left behind, he was consumed with impotent impatience. It seemed to him that the engine pulled up at every poky little town in Normandy. He got it on his mind that every railroad official was............