How enchantingly coy the dear girl had been yesterday!  Taking down a Continental Bradshaw from one of the bookshelves, he looked up the route to Milan.  She had chosen Rome, Naples and Capri for the honeymoon, and of course she should have her own way!  Unable to control his impatience after half-past ten, Colonel Faversham went to his dressing-room, limping up-stairs as no one was looking, and imparted a more militant twirl to his moustache.  When he reached the hall again Knight held his thin overcoat and handed his top-hat, gloves and malacca cane.

Seeing a taxi-cab Colonel Faversham hailed it, so that he reached Golfney Place earlier than ever before.  As he rang the bell he could scarcely control his muscles.  He coughed so violently that one or two people looked back at him in passing.  He shifted the position of his hat so often as he waited for Miller to open the door, that he might have been making a series of automatic bows to imaginary acquaintances.  He stamped his feet and felt that his necktie was in the middle of his shirt front, and then he rang a second time.

“Good heavens!” he muttered, “why can’t the man come!  Why can’t he let me in!”

Miller opened the door at last, in the act of thrusting one arm into his coat.  By the time Colonel Faversham had crossed the threshold the butler had assumed his usual deferential stoop and his manner was as suave as ever.

“Good-morning, Miller,” said Colonel Faversham, pacified the instant he obtained admittance.  “I am rather early.  Miss Rosser?”

“Miss Rosser is not here, colonel,” was the astounding answer.

“Not here!  Good gracious!  What do you mean?”

“Miss Rosser left the house at half-past three yesterday afternoon, colonel.”

“Do you mean to tell me she has not returned?” demanded Colonel Faversham.

“No,” said Miller.

“But I have an appointment with her this morning!”

“I understand that Miss Rosser is not coming back, colonel,” answered Miller.

Colonel Faversham was ceasing to look entirely bewildered.  He grew exceedingly red in the face; his eyes appeared to be starting out of his head.  Horrible thoughts occurred to him.  He glared at Miller as if he were responsible for Bridget’s departure, and with miserable sensations he began to put a new interpretation upon the coyness which he had found so seductive yesterday morning.

“Miss Rosser,” said Miller, “left a letter for you.”

“Why on earth couldn’t you tell me so at once!” demanded Colonel Faversham.

“And a parcel,” said Miller.

“Where are they?  Where are they?” exclaimed the colonel; and Miller went to the rear of the hall, returning the next moment with a fair-sized, brown-paper parcel in his hand.  It obviously contained the crocodile-hide dressing-bag, which had been Bridget’s birthday present; the handle, indeed, projected for convenience of transport.