She did not see him till the next night, after dinner, when he came to her as she was sitting in a corner of the back drawing-room alone.  And as he came, she looked at him with a curiously intent yet baffled gaze, as if trying to fit a present impression to one past.  And yet she could hardly have had any difficulty in recognizing him; for his face was unforgettable, unique; but she missed something in it which used to be familiar.  And now she saw that what she had missed was the restless look of youth; the sensuous eagerness that had helped to make it so irregular.  It had settled into the other look that she had found there more rarely; the look that strengthened and refined the mobile features, and brought them into harmony with the clean prominent lines of the chin and of the serious level brows.  Of all his looks it was the one that she used to like best.

“So you’ve come back again?” he said.

“But I never was away.”

“I thought you were abroad?”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t know.  I suppose I must have dreamt it.”

“I think you must.  I’ve been in town for the last six weeks.”

“In town?”

“Yes, if Hampstead’s town.  I’ve been staying with the Jewdwines.  Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, he never told me anything.”

She was silent for a moment.  “So that’s why you never came to see me.”

“To see you?  I didn’t know—­and if I had I shouldn’t have thought—­” He hesitated.

“Of what?  Of coming to see me?”

“No, that you would have cared for me to come.”

“I think that’s not a thing you ought to say.  Of course I cared.”

“Well, but I couldn’t take that for granted, could I?”

“Couldn’t you?  Not after the messages I sent you?”

“But I never got any messages.”

“Didn’t you?” Her upper lip quivered; it was as if she winced at some thought that struck her like a blow.  “Then my cousin must have forgotten to give them to you.  Just like him; he is shockingly careless.”

Now Rickman knew it was not just like him; Jewdwine was not careless, he was in all things painfully meticulous; and he never forgot.

“I don’t think I can forgive him for that.”

“You must forgive him.  He is overwhelmed with work.  And he isn’t really as thoughtless as you might suppose.  He has given me news of you regularly.  You can’t think how glad I was to hear you were getting on so well.  As for the latest news of all—­” She lifted her face and looked at him with her sweet kind eyes.  “It is true that you are going to be married?”

“Quite true.”

“I was so glad to hear that, too.”

“Thanks.”  There was a slight spasm in his throat.  That thick difficult word stuck in it and choked him for the moment.

“I hope I shall meet your wife some day.”

“You have met her.”  Lucia looked puzzled and he smiled, a little sadly for a bridegroom.  “You sat next her at dinner.  She’s here somewhere.”