yearned for the quiet of the country? What a fool he had been not to think of it before.
He returned to the hotel with a feeling of exhilaration. A new optimism had taken possession of him. He was no longer entirely dependent upon the dining-room, in fact that was least likely to bring about a meeting with the Rain-Girl. At the same time its possibilities must not be under-estimated. No doubt occasionally she would lunch or dine there for the sake of variety, possibly when entertaining friends, to whose preferences she would naturally defer. Yes, he must continue his search. It would not do to be discouraged during the first twenty-four hours. She was spending the Season in London; about this she had been quite definite. She was also going to stay at the Ritz-Carlton; here again she had left no room for doubt.
The chances of anything having intervened to prevent this arrangement being carried out were comparatively remote, certainly not sufficiently tangible to discourage him in the prosecution of his search. He would leave nothing to chance, he would go to all the public social functions he could, walk in the Park, stroll about the streets. He would go to Westminster Abbey on Sunday—a good idea that; she was just the sort of girl who would love the Abbey, attend first nights, in short do the very things from which a few weeks ago he had precipitately fled. The one thing he would not do was to renew old friendships. If he did his time would no longer
