There was no sign, however, of
Miss Donovan; the time was up, yet with no evidence of her approach.
Westcott waited patiently, arguing to himself that her delay might be
caused by her wish to get Beaton well out of the way before she
ventured to leave the hotel. At last he strode down the path to the
bridge, and saw her leaning over the rail, staring at the ripples below.
"Why," he exclaimed in surprise, "how long have you been here?"
"Several minutes," and she turned to face him. "I waited until the
carriage passed before coming onto the bridge. I took the foot-path
from the hotel."
"Oh, I see--from the other way. I was waiting in the trail below. You
saw who was in the carriage?"
"Beaton--yes," quietly. "He expects some friends, and wishes me to
meet them--Eastern people, you know."
Her indifference ruffled his temper, aroused his suspicion of her
purpose.
"You sent for me; there is some explanation, no doubt?"
The lady smiled, lifting her eyes to his face.
"There is," she answered. "A perfectly satisfactory one, I believe;
but this place is too prominent, as I have a rather long story to tell.
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