Mary’s previous conjecture had been right, then.  Boyne must have gone to the gardens to meet her, and since she had missed him, it was clear that he had taken the shorter way by the south door, instead of going round to the court.  She crossed the hall to the glass portal opening directly on the yew garden, but the parlor-maid, after another moment of inner conflict, decided to bring out recklessly, “Please, Madam, Mr. Boyne didn’t go that way.”

Mary turned back.  “Where did he go?  And when?”

“He went out of the front door, up the drive, Madam.”  It was a matter of principle with Trimmle never to answer more than one question at a time.

“Up the drive?  At this hour?” Mary went to the door herself, and glanced across the court through the long tunnel of bare limes.  But its perspective was as empty as when she had scanned it on entering the house.

“Did Mr. Boyne leave no message?” she asked.

Trimmle seemed to surrender herself to a last struggle with the forces of chaos.

“No, Madam.  He just went out with the gentleman.”

“The gentleman?  What gentleman?” Mary wheeled about, as if to front this new factor.

“The gentleman who called, Madam,” said Trimmle, resignedly.

“When did a gentleman call?  Do explain yourself, Trimmle!”

Only the fact that Mary was very hungry, and that she wanted to consult her husband about the greenhouses, would have caused her to lay so unusual an injunction on her attendant; and even now she was detached enough to note in Trimmle’s eye the dawning defiance of the respectful subordinate who has been pressed too hard.

“I couldn’t exactly say the hour, Madam, because I didn’t let the gentleman in,” she replied, with the air of magnanimously ignoring the irregularity of her mistress’s course.

“You didn’t let him in?”

“No, Madam.  When the bell rang I was dressing, and Agnes—­”

“Go and ask Agnes, then,” Mary interjected.  Trimmle still wore her look of patient magnanimity.  “Agnes would not know, Madam, for she had unfortunately burnt her hand in trying the wick of the new lamp from town—­” Trimmle, as Mary was aware, had always been opposed to the new lamp—­“and so Mrs. Dockett sent the kitchen-maid instead.”

Mary looked again at the clock.  “It’s after two!  Go and ask the kitchen-maid if Mr. Boyne left any word.”

She went into luncheon without waiting, and Trimmle presently brought her there the kitchen-maid’s statement that the gentleman had called about one o’clock, that Mr. Boyne had gone out with him without leaving any message.  The kitchen-maid did not even know the caller’s name, for he had written it on a slip of paper, which he had folded and handed to her, with the injunction to deliver it at once to Mr. Boyne.