daughter would easily give up the lover whom he considered unworthy of
her. But he was wrong. Much too high-spirited and too happy in her
temperament and surroundings to brood over her lover's late negligence,
she was perhaps too vain to believe that she had lost her hold upon his
heart. At any rate, she liked him too well to give him up in this
off-hand fashion without making an effort to discover the reason of his
present mysterious conduct.

That letter which he had used as an excuse for his sudden departure had
arrived at The Beeches by the afternoon post. Doreen had seen it with
her own eyes; had noted with some natural curiosity that the direction
was ill-spelled, ill-written; that the chirography was that of an almost
illiterate female correspondent; and that the post-mark showed that it
came from the East End of London. Rather a strange letter for the smart
young barrister to receive, perhaps. And the thought of it made Doreen
pause when she had got outside the door on the broad drive between the
lawns.

Only for the moment. The next she was flying across the rougher grass
outside the garden among the oaks and the beeches of the park. She saw
no one in front of her, and for a few seconds her heart beat very fast.
She thought she had missed him.

There was no lodge at the park entrance; only a modest wooden gate in
the middle of the fence. Doreen was hesitating whether to go through or
to go back, when she saw the figure of Dudley Horne coming toward the
gate from the stables.

So she waited.