“There you go—­rejoicing in my humiliations!” said Meadows, putting an arm round the scoffer.  “I tell you, she proposes to write my next set of lectures for me.  She gave me an outline of them this morning.”

Then they both laughed together like children.  And Doris, with her head on a strong man’s shoulder, and a rough coat scrubbing her cheek, suddenly bethought her of the line—­“Journeys end in lovers’ meeting—­” and was smitten with a secret wonder as to how much of her impulse to come north had been due to an altruistic concern for the Dunstable affairs, and how much to a firm determination to recapture Arthur from his Gloriana.  But that doubt she would never reveal.  It would be so bad for Arthur!

She rose to her feet.

“Where are they?”

“Lord and Lady Dunstable?  Gone off to Dunkeld to find their solicitor and bring him back to meet Miss Wigram.  They’ll be home by tea.  I’m to look after you.”

“Are we going to an hotel?”

Meadows laughed immoderately.

“Come and look at your apartment, my dear.  One of her ladyship’s maids has been told off to look after you.  As I expect you have arrived with little more than a comb-and-brush bag, there will be a good deal to do.”

Doris caught him by the coat-fronts.

“You don’t mean to say that I shall be expected to dine to-night!  I have not brought an evening dress.”

“What does that matter?  I met Miss Field in the passage, as I was coming in to you, and she said:  ’I see Mrs. Meadows has not brought much luggage.  We can lend her anything she wants.  I will send her a few of Rachel’s tea-gowns to choose from.’”

Doris’s laugh was hysterical; then she sobered down.

“What time is it?  Four o’clock.  Oh, I wish Miss Wigram was here!  You know, Lord Dunstable must go to town to-night!  And Miss Wigram can’t arrive till after the last train from here.”

“They know.  They’ve ordered a special, to take Lord Dunstable and the solicitor to Edinburgh, to catch the midnight mail.”

“Oh, well—­if you can bully the fates like that!—­” said Doris, with a shrug.  “How did he take it?”

Meadows’s tone changed.

“It was a great blow.  I thought it aged him.”

“Was she nice to him?” asked Doris, anxiously.

“Nicer than I thought she could be,” said Meadows, quietly.  “I heard her say to him—­’I’m afraid it’s been my fault, Harry.’  And he took her hand, without a word.”

“I will not cry!” said Doris, pressing her hands on her eyes.  “If it comes right, it will do them such a world of good!  Now show me my room.”

But in the hall, waiting to waylay them, they found Miss Field, beaming as usual.

“Everything is ready for you, dear Mrs. Meadows, and if you want anything you have only to ring.  This way—­”

“The ground-floor?” said Doris, rather mystified, as they followed.