The young man threw back his head and laughed. Virginia laughed with him. Running her eyes carelessly over him, she thought him a more pleasing specimen than usual of London’s unemployed. She liked his brown face, and the lean hardness of him. She went so far as to wish she had a job for him.

But at that moment the door opened, and immediately Virginia forgot all about the problem of the unemployed, for to her astonishment the door was opened by her own maid, Élise.

“Where’s Chilvers?” she demanded sharply, as she stepped into the hall.

“But he is gone, madame, with the others.”

“What others? Gone where?”

“But to Datchet, madame⁠—to the cottage, as your telegram said.”

“My telegram?” said Virginia, utterly at sea.