The sound of her own voice roused her to the consciousness that she was getting very near home; she sat up, dried her eyes and smoothed her hair. It would not do to alarm Joan; what had happened this afternoon must be kept a secret from her at all events. She had her own latch-key. She opened the door and stole upstairs. The landlady and her daughter were chatting in the back parlour, but Embrance did not want to exchange civilities with them just now. Outside her own door she paused for a moment, then opened it, saying: “Well, Joan, are you waiting for your tea?”
There was no answer. The lamp was lighted, the tablecloth was laid, but Joan was not there. Her chair was in a corner by the window; there were no signs of her drawing or scraps of millinery about.
“Joan!” cried Embrance, nervously. “Where are you?”
No answer. She ran to the door of the next room and looked in; all was dark and silent. “I suppose it is not so late as I thought,” she said to herself. “She will be in soon, I daresay.”
She took off her bonnet, and sat down to wait with a book, but she could not fix her attention. She was very, very tired, and rather lonely; she did wish that Joan would come. The longing to speak to somebody was so great, that after a short time she put out her hand and rang the bell. Annie came running upstairs at the summons; her eyes were round with excitement; she hardly waited to hear Miss Clemon’s question.
“Did Miss Fulloch leave any message for me when she went out?”
“No, miss; she’s been gone ever since ten o’clock, half an hour after you left. I heard the door bang, and I said to myself, ‘What’s that?’ And it was Miss Fulloch; she had on her new bonnet, with the pink feather, that she was making.”
“Never mind the bonnet, Annie; did she say when she would be in to tea?”
“No, miss; and I expect she won’t be back; she took her bag.”
“Very well. I will wait half an hour, and then, please, bring tea.”
“There’s something wrong upstairs,” was Annie’s report in the kitchen. “Miss Clemon looks as if she see a ghost. She isn’t half the lady she was.”
Seven o’clock struck; eight o’clock, nine o’clock, and no Joan appeared. Embrance drank a cup of tea, but she could not eat anything. In vain she told herself that very likely Mrs. Rakely had made one of her flying visits to London, and had persuaded Joan to spend the day with her; it was absurd to be anxious; of course she would be back directly; nevertheless she could not read, write, or rest. The late postman brought a letter for Miss Clemon. Annie, having studied the envelope on the way upstairs, saw that the postmark was Brighton.