Marbridge lies in the west country,
some considerable distance from London; Rawson-Clew did not reach it
till the afternoon, at an hour devoted by the Polkingtons most
exclusively to things social. It is to be feared, however, that he did
not consider the Polkingtons collectively at all; it was Julia, and
Julia alone, of whom he was thinking when he knocked at the door of
No. 27 East Street.
The door was opened by a different sort of servant from the one who
had opened it to him the last time he came; rather a smart-looking
girl she was, with her answers quite ready.
"Miss Julia Polkington was not at home," she said, and, in answer to
his inquiry when she was expected, informed him that she did not know.
"There is no talk of her coming home, sir," she said; "she is abroad,
I think; she has been gone some time."
"Since when?"
The girl did not know. "In the spring, I think, sir," she said; "she
has not been here all the summer."
Then, it seemed, his first suspicion was correct; Julia had not gone
home; for some reason or another she was not able to return.
"Is Captain Polkington in?" he asked.
He was not; there was no one at home now; but Mrs. Polkington would be
in in about an hour. The maid added the last, feeling sure her
mistress would be sorry to let such a visitor slip.
But Rawson-Clew did not want to see Mrs.
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