He mentioned where he was staying, said that he hoped to spend a week or so at St.Jean de Luz--and so got away, with an uneasy feeling that his behaviour had not exactly been such as to recommend him to the timid young lady.
Rosamund had broken her journey somewhere, that was evident; perhaps in Paris, where he knew she had friends.

If she did not arrive this evening, or to-morrow, her sister would at all events hear that she was coming.

But how was he to be informed of her arrival?
How could he keep an espial on the house?
His situation was wretchedly unlike that he had pictured to himself; instead of the romantic lover, carrying all before him by the energy of passion, he had to play a plotting, almost sneaking part, in constant fear of being taken for a presumptuous interloper.

Lucky that Rosamund had spoken of him to her sister.

Well, he must wait; though waiting was the worst torture for a man in his mood.
He idled through the day on the seashore.