Mrs. Richborough glanced at the little parcel on Isbel's lap. "Surely you didn't bring lunch with you?"
"Oh, no; I'm only here on business."
Judge at last succeeded in finding a train. It would convey her to Brighton in time for luncheon, but she would have to start for the station at once, and lose no time on the way.
Mrs. Richborough held out her hand. "I hope we shall resume the acquaintance under more propitious circumstances."
Isbel returned the slightest and coldest of bows, deliberately overlooking the hand.
"No, don't trouble to come with me, Mr. Judge," she said, touching his fingers, with a smile. "People who run for trains aren't very good company, and I know the way quite well."
And she immediately set off through the rain in the direction of the railway station.
Chapter XII MRS. RICHBOROUGH'S ERRAND
Wednesday afternoon turned out cold and fine, with a watery sun. Isbel arrived at the rendezvous at a few minutes before the appointed time, but Judge was not yet there.
She was fashionably but inconspicuously dressed in a dark serge costume, with skunk furs; at the back of her mind was the desire to correct any possible wrong impression caused by her unfortunately-chosen attire of yesterday. After pacing up and down the parade in front of the Baths for a good while, however, with carefully assumed nonchalance, she began to fear that her forethought would be wasted; no one even distantly resembling Judge was in sight.
Her feelings passed from disappointment to impatience, and thence to anger, by the gradations which familiar to everyone who has ever been kept waiting. At a quarter past three she decided that it was inconsistent with her dignity as a woman to stay for his good pleasure any longer…yet five minutes later she had still not dragged herself away from the spot…
She was really going, when she caught sight of a familiar person approaching her-a surprising vision, which caused her to catch her breath and turn rather pale. It was Mrs. Richborough. She was mincing along the parade, without any great appearance of haste, from the direction of Brighton. Her furs were still very much in evidence, but they were different from those she had worn yesterday, being even heavier and more expensive-looking; she had on a smart black velvet togue, ornamented with a single paradise feather, and was wearing quite new white gloves. Isbel feared that her presence there was directly connected with Judge's absence; she felt wretchedly sure that something must have happened to him. Without standing on pretence she hurried to meet the widow.
They met, and lightly touched hands-Mrs. Richborough with a correct smile, but Isbel too worried to think of observances.
"I suppose you come from Mr. Judge?" she demanded, at once.
"I do, and I'm frightfully sorry I couldn't get here before, for I know what girls are when they're disappointed…but really-I'm so out of breath with running here…you will excuse me, won't you? The trains, as usual, are running just at the wrong time…You see how distressed I am with hurrying."
"Never mind. Why couldn't he come himself?"
"He's unwell…No-not badly. A chill on the liver, or something of the kind. Of course, we know he's not as young as he was. He wanted to come, but I wouldn't hear of it. rather than that he should risk more serious complications, I offered to act as messenger myself…Shall we sit down?"
"You're sure it's nothing serious?"
"Oh, my dear!…It's only a cold. He'll be all right to-morrow again."
They sat down side by side on one of the public seats. Mrs. Richborough made a feint of recovering her breath, which Isbel did not condescend to notice.
"Have you brought a note from him, or is it a verbal message?"
"It's a letter, my dear. I'm going to find it in a minute." She opened her hand-bag, and peered into it with provoking leisureliness…"Do you know, I feel quite an intrigante. Of course, it isn't a romance, but I've been amusing myself all the way here by imagining it really to be one. I've a fearfully romantic disposition."
"Oh, it's only about his house, which my aunt proposes to buy."
"How disillusioning!…So you act as her business manager?"
"I help her sometimes. Is that the note?"
"It's a little crumpled, but otherwise quite intact."
Isbel turned the large, square envelope over in her hand; it was unaddressed, but sealed with yellow wax. Contact with Mrs. Richborough's scent-sachet in her bag had invested it with a heavy feminine odour. She examined the sealing-wax more closely than was altogether courteous.
"Does he want me to read it now, and return an answer?"
"He is rather expecting one, I fancy. Don't study me, my dear-I shan't look."
Isbel still fingered the envelope. "You're not in his confidence, naturally?"
"That's quite a horrid question!" The widow's voice remained soft, but her eye was hard and insolent. "I'm afraid we haven't arrived at that stage of intimacy yet."
"I didn't know."
She hesitated no longer, but at once broke open the envelope. Her companion discreetly bent down to lift and minutely inspect the hem of her skirt; she allowed it to fall again gracefully, and then produced from her bad a little silver mirror, in which she critically scrutinised her reflected features.
In addition to a letter, there was something wrapped in white paper, and this Isbel opened first. It proved to be a hairpin. She gazed at in blank astonishment, and then hurriedly thrust it back inside the envelope, before Mrs. Richborough should see. The letter itself was in Judge's firm, precise hand-writing, and ran as follows:
"My dear Miss Loment.
"I am not quite the thing to-day, so please forgive my non-attendance. Mrs. R. has very kindly offered to run over to see you and bring you this letter with enclosure. The latter was picked up-you know where. The pencil-note I brought back with me from the same place related, I am reluctant to inform you, only to my own personal feelings, and I have taken the liberty to destroy it; but I am afraid that your hypothesis is, after all, correct. If you are able to identify the article enclosed, we must regard the evident as conclusive.
"I now propose that we shall go over there to-morrow (Thursday) together. Mrs. R. has kindly volunteered to accompany us, and, if you think well of the proposition, perhaps you will fix up things with her. She knows nothing of the affair in question. Very probably I have no right to ask you to come, and I do not do so on my own account-which I believe you understand. But I know what anxiety the whole business is causing you, and must cause you so I thought it only fair that the opportunity should be placed within your reach, should you desire to avail yourself of it. if you are unable to arrange for to-morrow, perhaps you could give Mrs. R. another date?
"It is unnecessary to impress on you the desirability of destroying this letter at the earliest moment.
"Very sincerely yours.
"H.J."
Isbel read through the missive twice, then returned it thoughtfully to the envelope and placed the latter in her handbag.
"Thanks, Mrs. Richborough!"
The widow, who was in the act of adjusting her veil, turned about with a quick, impulsive smile.
"Everything satisfactory, my dear?"
"As regards the main business-yes. But he says something about our all going over to Runhill Court to-morrow…"
"Do let's! I'm positively dying to see that place."
"Why?"
"I dote on these ancient family houses. I don't know why. I'm more than a little mediumistic-that may be one reason."
"If you're so keen, you needn't wait for me, I suppose?"
Mrs. Richbourough's smile faded. "I suppose not, if I could find another woman. Unluckily, I know nobody in this part of the world. My own set happens to be up North."
"Is there no one at the hotel?"
"I'm just a little exclusive, I fear…Why shouldn't you come, my dear? What are you afraid of?"