CHAPTER XIV
THE LEGEND OF THE PERFECT FOOD
A foretaste of autumn had crept into the midst of summer. There were
gray clouds in the sky, a north wind booming across the moors. Burton
even shivered as he walked down the hill to the house where she lived.
There was still gorse, still heather, still a few roses in the garden
and a glimmering vision of the beds of other flowers in the background.
But the sun which gave them life was hidden. Burton looked eagerly into
the garden and his heart sank. There was no sign there of any living
person. After a moment's hesitation, he opened the gate, passed up the
neat little path and rang the bell. It was opened after the briefest of
delays by the trim parlor-maid.
"Is your mistress at home?" he asked.
"Miss Edith has gone to London for two days, sir," the girl announced.
"The professor is in his study, sir."
Burton stood quite still for a moment. It was absurd that his heart
should be so suddenly heavy, that all the spring and buoyancy should
have gone out of life! For the first time he realized the direction in
which his thoughts had been travelling since he had left his rooms an
hour ago. He had to remind himself that it was the professor whom he
had come to see.
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