It was five minutes past five--just about the hour when Paula would be driving from Markton Station to Stancy Castle to rest and prepare herself for her evening triumph.

There was a train at six o'clock, timed to reach Markton between eleven and twelve, which by great exertion he might save even now, if it were worth while to undertake such a scramble for the pleasure of dropping in to the ball at a late hour.

A moment's vision of Paula moving to swift tunes on the arm of a person or persons unknown was enough to impart the impetus required.

He jumped up, flung his dress clothes into a portmanteau, sent down to call a cab, and in a few minutes was rattling off to the railway which had borne Paula away from London just five hours earlier.
Once in the train, he began to consider where and how he could most conveniently dress for the dance.

The train would certainly be half-an-hour late; half-an-hour would be spent in getting to the town-hall, and that was the utmost delay tolerable if he would secure the hand of Paula for one spin, or be more than a mere dummy behind the earlier arrivals.