He found himself near Albert Bridge, pacing this way and that, expecting at every moment the appearance of the slim figure clad in grey.

The sun set; the blind of Rosamund's sitting-room showed that there was lamplight within; and at ten o'clock Warburton still hung about the square, hoping--against his reason--that she might come forth.

He went home, and wrote to her.
In a score of ways he explained to himself her holding aloof.

It was vexation at his not having confided in her; it was a desire to reflect before seeing him again; it was--and so on, all through the night, which brought him never a wink of sleep.

Next morning, he did not go to the shop; it would have been impossible to stand at the counter for ten minutes, he sent a note to Allchin, saying that he was detained by private affairs, then set off for a day-long walk in the country, to kill time until the coming of Rosamund's reply.