arrying a
portmanteau, and at the same moment Miss Sally issued from the yellow
drawing-room with a Bradshaw in her hand.

"Where are the children?" she asked.

"Nowhere in sight."

"That's odd. Tossell's punctual in everything as a rule--rent included.
Well, I must leave you to keep an eye on them. . . . Do you know
anything about Bursfield? The best hotel there, for instance? I see
there are two advertised here, The Imperial--everything's Imperial
nowadays--with a night-porter and a lift--I detest lifts--never use
'em--and the Grand Central, family and commercial, electric light.
I abominate commercials, but they know how to feed. Why the deuce can't
these people advertise something worth knowing? Electric light--who
wants to eat overdone steaks by electricity?"

"But, my dear lady, why this sudden curiosity about Bursfield and its
hotels?"

"Because, my dear man, I'm going there, to-night; by the 7.12. Butts
has just carried my portmanteau upstairs."

"Your portmanteau?"

"Yes; I don't believe in trunks and dress boxes--my things will bear
folding, and Humphreys"--meaning her maid--"is already folding 'em.
Man, don't stare. I'm going to have the time of my life at Bursfield in
Glasson's absence. You saw Glasson depart? Well, he didn't tell; but
you may pack me in another portmanteau if he's not posting off to Monte
Carlo."

"Well?"

"Well, he won't find Miles Chandon there. Because why? Because
I've written out this telegram, which I'll trouble you to send as soon
as the post office opens to-morrow. Nuisance there's no telegraphing in
the country on Sundays. I thought of getting a porter to dispatch it
for me at Taunton; but it wouldn't reach Monte Carlo until some
unearthly hour, and we've plenty of time. Miles Chandon will get it
to-morrow, probably just as Glasson is beginning to get on terms with
the Channel crossing. He's the very subject for sea-sickness, the
brute! . . . And the two will probably pass one another at some time in
the middle of the night, while I'm sleeping like a top after a happy day
at Bursfield."

"You count on Chandon's coming?"

"Here's the telegram--'_Return Meriton Wednesday at latest. Important.
Sally Breward._'"

"Will that fetch him?"

"Of course it will. Miles Chandon owes me something, as I think I told
you, and is a gentleman moreover."

"Oh, very well, I'll send it, and I have only one other question.
What precisely is your business at Bursfie