'Dear Mr.Rolfe,--Will you come again next Wednesday ?' That was all.

Did it amuse her to keep him in suspense?
The invitation might imply a fulfilment of his hopes, but Alma's capriciousness allowed no certainty; a week's reflection was as likely to have one result as another.

For him it meant a week of solitude and vacancy.
Or would have meant it, but for that sub-vigorous element in his character, that saving strain of practical rationality, which had brought him thus far in life without sheer overthrow.

An hour after receiving Alma's enigmatical note, he was oppressed by inertia; another hour roused him to self-preservation, and supplied him with a project.
That night he took the steamer from Harwich to Antwerp, and for the next four days wandered through the Netherlands, reviving his memories of a journey, under very different circumstances, fifteen years ago.
The weather was bright and warm; on the whole he enjoyed himself; he reached London again early on Wednesday morning, and in the afternoon, with a touch of weather on his cheek, presented himself at Alma's door.
She awaited him in the drawing-room, alone.

This time, he felt sure, no interruption was to be feared; he entered with confident step and a cheery salutation.