resolutely strode over to face the situation, trusting to luck to keep him
from blundering his game into her hands. Just as he was about to put his
foot upon the lamp-lit door-sill the solution struck him like a blow. She
was expecting Havens to meet her!

There was but one woman in the room, and she was approaching the door
with evident impatience as he entered. Both stopped short, she with a look
of surprise, which changed to annoyance and then crept into an nervous,
apologetic little smile; he with an unsuppressed ejaculation. She wore a
gray skirt, a white waist, and a sailor hat, and she was surpassingly good
to look at even in the trying light from the overhead lamp. Instinctively
his eye swept over her. She carried on her arm the light gray jacket, and
in one hand was the tightly rolled parasol of--he impertinently craned his
neck to see--of purple! Mr. Rossiter was face to face with the woman he
was to dog for a month, and he was flabbergasted. Even as he stopped,
puzzled, before her, contemplating retreat, she spoke to him.

"Did that man send you to me?" she asked nervously, looking through the
door beyond and then through a window at his right, quite puzzled, he
could see.

"He did, and I was sure he was mistaken. I knew of no one in this
God-forsaken place who could be asking for me," said he, collecting his
wits carefully and herding them into that one sentence. "But perhaps I
can help you. Will you tell me whom I am to look for?"

"It is strange he is not here," she said a little breathlessly. "I wired
him just what train to expect me on."

"Your husband?" ventured he admirably.