There had been no accident, then; he had been obliged to go--there would be some explanation forthcoming.

Perhaps he had even written to her, too--and she gave a bound forward, as though to run back to La Sarthe Chase.

But then she recollected the evening postman did not come to the house, and they got no letters as Cheiron did, who was on the road.

Hers could not be there until the morning--she must wait patiently and see.
With consummate self-control she made her voice sound natural as she said, "Oh, I am so late, Mrs.Porrit.I must go," and, bidding the woman a gracious good evening, walked rapidly to the house.

A telegram might have come for her, and she had been out all day.