Chapter 40

THE WINDOW


G.J. sat on the oilcloth-covered seat of the large overhanging open
bay-window. Below him was the river, tributary of the Severn; in front
the Old Bridge, with an ancient street rising beyond, and above that
the silhouette of the roofs of Wrikton surmounted by the spire of its
vast church. To the left was the weir, and the cliffs were there also,
and the last tints of the sunset.

Somebody came into the coffee-room. G.J. looked round, hoping that it
might, after all, be Concepcion. But it was Concepcion's maid, Emily,
an imitative young woman who seemed to have caught from her former
employer the quality of strange, sinister provocativeness.

She paused a moment before speaking. Her thin figure was somewhat
indistinct in the twilight.

"Mrs. Smith wishes me to say that she will certainly be well enough to
take you to the station in the morning, sir," said she in her specious
tones. "But she hopes you will be able to stay till the afternoon
train."

"I shan't." He shook his head.

"Very well, sir."