November 5

BRANCHES, Saturday afternoon, November 5th.

This morning I woke with a headache, to see the rain beating against my windows, and mist and fog--a fitting day for the 5th of November. I would not go down to breakfast. Véronique brought me mine to my sitting-room fire, and, with Spartan determination, I packed steadily all the morning.

About twelve a note came up from Lord Robert. I put it in.

DEAR MISS TRAVERS,-Why are you hiding? Was I a bore last night? Do forgive me and come down. Has Christopher locked you in your room? I will murder the brute if he has!

Yours very sincerely, ROBERT VAVASOUR.

"Can't; I am packing," I scribbled in pencil on the envelope, and gave it back to Charles, who was waiting in the hall for the answer. Two minutes after, Lord Robert walked into the room, the door of which the footman had left open.

"I have come to help you," he said, in that voice of his that sounds so sure of a welcome you can't snub him. "But where are you going?"

"I don't know," I said, a little forlornly, and then bent down and vigorously collected photographs.

"Oh, but you can't go to London by yourself!" he said, aghast. "Look here, I will come up with you, and take you to my aunt, Lady Merrenden. She is such a dear, and I am sure when I have told her all about you she will be delighted to take care of you for some days until you can hunt round."