Her talk with Julia, and the little incident that had caused her to take refuge in the waiting-room, had made her hopelessly late for her appointments, but that, Regina felt, could not be helped. She turned, when she left the waiting-room, and walked across the green into the Post-Office, where she sent off a couple of telegrams, and then she took the next train to London and went straight to her club, where she lunched by herself. I need not go into the details of her day. She kept her appointments, behaved herself in a perfectly rational manner, and went home, poor woman, with a heart as heavy as lead. When she got home a terrible shock was waiting for her. Mr. Whittaker had come home, inquired for her, and gone off with a portmanteau and left a note for her on the dining-room mantelshelf.
"The master was so put out," the intelligent parlor-maid declared, looking quite reproachfully at Regina, "he came in at five o'clock; of course there wasn't a soul at home. I knew Miss Julia had gone to Mrs. Marksby's, and I told master so, and he went to the telephone to speak through to Miss Maudie--I mean Mrs. Marksby, but the young ladies, they were gone out somewhere or other, and Mr. Harry wasn't in, and I'd no idea where you was. Master _was_ put out! He had a cup of tea, and packed his bag and he tramped up and down the road, and then he said to me, 'Margaret,' said he, 'I must go or I sha'n't catch my train, but I've written a note to the mistress, and be sure you take care of her whilst I am away.' Those were his last words, 'be sure you take care of her whilst I am away!'"
"Well, well," said Regina, who did not believe in giving way in the presence of servants, "well, well, your master has had to go away on business, no doubt. His letter will explain everything."
Her exterior was calm, but her heart was beating fast as she turned into the dining-room and took the letter off the chimney-shelf. She felt that the fatal moment had come, and that Alfred was gone. Alfred _was_ gone, but not in the sense in which her doubting heart had feared.
"DEAREST QUEENIE"--the letter ran--"I am dreadfully upset not to find you at home, as I 'phoned up to you directly I knew that I should have to go away on most important business. I am just off to Paris. Just imagine my going to Paris without you, dearest! It seems preposterous. If I get my business through in a day or two, perhaps you will join me there? If I don't get my business through, I may have to go on elsewhere, and I could not drag you about, on what may be a wild-goose chase, half over Europe. I could have given you an outline of the story if you had been at home, but I haven't time to write it. When I think of myself, a respectable British householder, tearing off on this mad errand, I feel inclined to pinch myself to make sure that I am awake. Till we meet.--Your fond and devoted
