‘It can do no good,’ he said mournfully.  ’It is better to nip her notion in its beginning.  She says she wants to fly to Rouen, and from there arrange terms with him.  But it can’t be done—­she should have thought of terms before.’

Christopher made no further reply.  Leaving word at the ‘Red Lion’ that a man was to be sent to take the horse of him, he drove directly onwards to the station.

‘Then you don’t mean to help her?’ said Julian, when Sol took the tickets—­one for himself and one for Picotee.

‘I serve her best by leaving her alone!’ said Sol.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘She has married him.’

‘She is in distress.’

‘She has married him.’

Sol and Picotee took their seats, Picotee upbraiding her brother.  ’I can go by myself!’ she said, in tears.  ’Do go back for Berta, Sol.  She said I was to go home alone, and I can do it!’

’You must not.  It is not right for you to be hiring cabs and driving across London at midnight.  Berta should have known better than propose it.’

‘She was flurried.  Go, Sol!’

But her entreaty was fruitless.

‘Have you got your ticket, Mr. Julian?’ said Sol.  ’I suppose we shall go together till we get near Melchester?’

‘I have not got my ticket yet—­I’ll be back in two minutes.’

The minutes went by, and Christopher did not reappear.  The train moved off:  Christopher was seen running up the platform, as if in a vain hope to catch it.

‘He has missed the train,’ said Sol.  Picotee looked disappointed, and said nothing.  They were soon out of sight.

‘God forgive me for such a hollow pretence!’ said Christopher to himself.  ’But he would have been uneasy had he known I wished to stay behind.  I cannot leave her in trouble like this!’

He went back to the ‘Red Lion’ with the manner and movement of a man who after a lifetime of desultoriness had at last found something to do.  It was now getting late in the afternoon.  Christopher ordered a one-horse brougham at the inn, and entering it was driven out of the town towards Enckworth as the evening shades were beginning to fall.  They passed into the hamlet of Little Enckworth at half-past five, and drew up at a beer-house at the end.  Jumping out here, Julian told the man to wait till he should return.

Thus far he had exactly obeyed her orders to Sol.  He hoped to be able to obey them throughout, and supply her with the aid her brother refused.  He also hoped that the change in the personality of her confederate would make no difference to her intention.  That he was putting himself in a wrong position he allowed, but time and attention were requisite for such analysis:  meanwhile Ethelberta was in trouble.  On the one hand was she waiting hopefully for Sol; on the other was Sol many miles on his way to town; between them was himself.

He ran with all his might towards Enckworth Park, mounted the lofty stone steps by the lodge, saw the dark bronze figures on the piers through the twilight, and then proceeded to thread the trees.  Among these he struck a light for a moment:  it was ten minutes to six.  In another five minutes he was panting beneath the walls of her house.