These reflections occupied me until the omnibus, having rumbled over
London Bridge and up King William Street, joined the converging streams
of traffic at the Mansion House. Here I got down and changed to an
omnibus bound for Kensington; on which I travelled westward pleasantly
enough, looking down into the teeming streets and whiling away the time
by meditating upon the very agreeable afternoon that I promised myself,
and considering how far my new arrangement with Thorndyke would justify
me in entering into certain domestic engagements of a highly interesting
kind.

What might have happened under other circumstances it is impossible to
tell and useless to speculate; the fact is that my journey ended in a
disappointment. I arrived, all agog, at the familiar house in Endsley
Gardens only to be told by a sympathetic housemaid that the family was
out; that Mrs. Hornby had gone into the country and would not be home
until night, and--which mattered a good deal more to me--that her niece,
Miss Juliet Gibson, had accompanied her.

Now a man who drops into lunch without announcing his intention or
previously ascertaining those of his friends has no right to quarrel
with fate if he finds an empty house. Thus philosophically I reflected
as I turned away from the house in profound discontent, demanding of the
universe in general why Mrs. Hornby need have perversely chosen my first
free day to go gadding into the country, and above all, why she must
needs spirit away the fair Juliet. This was the crowning misfortune (for
I could have endured the absence of the elder lady with commendable
fortitude), and since I could not immediately return to the Temple it
left me a mere waif and stray for the time being.