That was true enough, or she would not have been as close to him as she was.
"It was bad enough when you didn't come on Sunday. I suppose you didn't get back from that Mrs. What's-her-name, your mother's friend, in time?"
"My dear, I had a chapter of accidents, and nearly missed the last train; I'll tell you all about it some day, and you'll laugh. I didn't feel like laughing then, I can tell you that."
"And I didn't feel like laughing, and I can tell you that. In fact, I--I cried."
"Stella!"
"I did; it seemed so awful. That was the longest Sunday I ever knew; and then when the evening came I kept expecting you every moment; I kept rushing out of the front door to look for you. Every footstep in the street I thought was yours, and every vehicle the hansom which was bringing you; when it kept getting later and later, and still you didn't come, I--I fancied all sorts of things, and I simply had to cry."
"My darling, I would infinitely rather have been with you than where I was."
That again was true enough; part of the time he had been in the tunnel--a gruesome time.
"What time was it when you did get back?"
"Frightfully late; but--Stella, you won't tell anyone if I tell you something? Promise!"
"Of course I promise. What--what is it?"
"You can laugh if you like; I don't mind your laughing a little bit; but I don't want them to laugh."
"Why should they laugh?"
"I did come to see you--after I came back."
"Rodney!"
"At least, I came as far as the outside of the house. I dismissed the cab at the corner; then I walked--or rather sneaked--along the pavement; if a bobby had seen me he'd have been all suspicion--till I reached the house. It was all in darkness; there wasn't a glimmer of light anywhere."
"What time was it?"
"About one, perhaps later."
"Rodney, I'd been in my room hours and hours; but I wasn't asleep; I was crying in bed."
"Stella! You were crying! Great Scott! if--if I'd only known it, I'd--I'd have done something."
"What would you have done?"
"I'd--I'd have done something if--if I'd had to break a window!"
"But what good would your breaking a window have done me?"
"Anyhow, it would have been a beginning; but, you see, I didn't even know which your room was--whether you were at the front or the back."
"I'm on the second floor in the front; my window's over the hall door."
"I kept staring at it all the time; I had a sort of feeling--I swear I had a sort of feeling! If I'd only been sure I'd have whistled."
"Whistled! At one in the morning! What would have been the good of that?"
"Suppose, say, I'd whistled 'The Devout Lover'--or what I should have meant for 'The Devout Lover'--you'd have heard."
"I probably should have heard; Miss Claughton would probably have heard also."
"Oh, hang Miss Claughton!"
"Rodney! Miss Claughton's a dear--and your hostess!"
"Miss Claughton may be an absolute angel for all I know--you know what I mean--so long as you heard I shouldn't have cared who heard. Then you'd have wondered who was kicking up that awful row."
"Do you think I should?"
"Certain! I can't whistle for nuts. Then you'd have got out of bed, crossed the room with your dear little bare feet----"
"Rodney!"
"And lifted the corner of the blind."
"I might."
"When you'd seen me hanging on to the railings for all I was worth, trying to get my breath and whistle at the same time; you'd have stopped crying, whatever else you did."
"Rodney, how absurd you are! Fancy your hanging on to the railings for all you were worth! What did you really do?"
"Oh, I hung about and hung about, and then I slunk off home. Wasn't it silly to come and see you at that time of night? I knew you'd laugh!"
"If I'd known you were there I shouldn't have cried. The idea, you darling! But, Rodney, why didn't you manage to get a peep at me the whole of yesterday?"
"Do you think I didn't try?--but I couldn't; it was a day of horrors!
Just as I was wondering if I couldn't manage to get at least a kiss by making out that Kensington was on the way to the City, the news came of what my uncle had done. That was a facer, for a man to get news like that just as he was finishing his breakfast."
"But I thought you didn't get the news till you reached the City? You sent your first telegram from there."
"I got the news before, but I didn't understand; I didn't want to understand, I didn't dare to understand. Then I had to go to the inquest."
"Did you? It doesn't say anything in the paper about you being there."
"Of course not; my evidence wasn't wanted after all, but we all of us had to be there. It was awful!"
"You poor, poor boy! Afterwards why didn't you come straight to me?"
"I couldn't; I had to rush off to the City."
"But why?"