It was something gained, at the worst, to be able to return to John
Saltram's bedside freed from that hideous suspicion which had tormented
him of late.
Walking thus, he found himself, towards the close of the brief winter
day, at the Marble Arch. He went through the gate into the empty Park,
and was crossing the broad road near the entrance, when an open carriage
passed close beside him, and a woman's voice called to the coachman to
stop.
The carriage stopped so abruptly and so near him that he paused and
looked up, in natural wonderment at the circumstance. A lady dressed in
mourning was leaning forward out of the carriage, looking eagerly after
him. A second glance showed him that this lady was Mrs. Branston.
"How do you do, Mr. Fenton," she cried, holding out her little
black-gloved hand: "What an age since I have seen you! But you have not
forgotten me, I hope?"
"That is quite impossible, Mrs. Branston. If I had not been very much
absorbed in thought just now, I should have recognised you sooner. It was
very kind of you to stop to speak to me."
"Not at all. I have something most particular to say to you. If you are
not in a very great hurry, would you mind getting into the carriage, and
letting me drive you round the Park? I can't keep you standing in the
road to talk.
Pages:
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490