For the
first time Diana was conscious of impatience, of a natural indignation.
She merely asked the messenger to say that "there was no answer."
Yet, as they crossed London her heart fluttered within her. One moment
her eyes were at the window scanning the bustle of the streets; the next
she would force herself to talk and smile with Muriel Colwood.
Mrs. Colwood insisted on dinner at the Charing Cross Hotel. Diana
submitted. Afterward they made their way, along the departure platform,
to the Dover-Calais train. They took their seats. Muriel Colwood
knew--felt it indeed, through every nerve--that the girl with her was
still watching, still hoping, still straining each bodily perception in
a listening expectancy.
The train was very full, and the platform crowded with friends, luggage,
and officials. Upon the tumult the great electric lamps threw their cold
ugly light. The roar and whistling of the trains filled the vast
station. Diana, meanwhile, sat motionless in her corner, looking out,
one hand propping her face.
But no one came. The signal was given for departure. The train glided
out. Diana's head slipped back and her eyes closed.
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