It was close on noon--a hot
and heavenly day! And again he thought of Doris cooped up in London.
Perhaps, after all, he would get out of that cruise!
Ah! there was the morning train--the midnight express from King's Cross
just arriving in the busy little town lying in the valley at his feet.
He watched it gliding along the valley, and heard the noise of the
brakes. Were any new guests expected by it? he wondered. Hardly! The
Lodge seemed quite full.
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later he threw away the novel impatiently. Midway, the
story had gone to pieces. He rose from his feet, intending this time to
tackle his neglected duties in earnest. As he did so, he heard a motor
climbing the steep drive, and in front of it a lady, walking.
He stood arrested--in a stupor of astonishment.
Doris!--by all the gods!--_Doris_!
It was indeed Doris. She came wearily, looking from side to side, like
one uncertain of her way. Then she too perceived Meadows, and stopped.
Meadows was conscious of two mixed feelings--first, a very lively
pleasure at the sight of her, and then annoyance.
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