At luncheon time she followed the general drift into the coffee-room, and when food was set before her she was surprised to find she could not eat. She was more than surprised – she was suddenly afraid. She began to fear – as if it were something quite disjoined from herself – for her willing body. But though she tried methodically, her gorge rose at each mouthful and she had to stop. The bill of fare appalled her – boiled cod, minced “collops,” corn-flour pudding. She wished there were some food she had never yet tasted – food with a new, unearthly flavour – food ambrosial that would melt into her dry, bitter mouth without effort.

She had been dimly conscious of a great many black coats in the room giving the place an atmosphere that was both familiar and depressing. Then scraps of talk came to her from the next table where sat a frizzy-haired young minister. He had just been assuring his wife that they were in ample time for their train.

“I’m sorry to miss the closing address to-night,” he went on. “I doubt we won’t see the old man again in this world.”

“With that halo of snow-white hair, Dr. Ranken makes a very dignified Moderator,” said the wife.

“But frail, frail,” returned the husband. “It is a marvel to every one how he has carried through the ten days.”

The month of May! Black-coated figures everywhere, chattering cheerfully like a colony of starlings! Why of course, it was the General Assembly! Not since the year of her father’s death had the General Assembly existed for Joanna, so that a bewildering cloud of reminiscence was evoked in her by the casual discovery that it was even now in progress, and an added sharpness was given to memory by the mention of Dr. Ranken’s name. The General Assembly and Dr. Ranken as Moderator! Looking at the hearty ministerial feeders around her, Joanna felt more than ever a ghost.

Within the next half hour she was drawn back by an obstinate revival of hope to the station hotel. Here there was a telegram for her; and she was further informed that a gentleman had telephoned at breakfast time – had telephoned again later – had called at about twelve o’clock, but had left no message.

As she tore open Louis’s telegram she was almost ready to come to life again. Was it all a mistake? Was she a fool, so to have taken to heart a momentary state of fatigue? She was at the mercy of a sickening back-wash of the life she thought to have parted from.

Louis asked her to meet him at half-past twelve. (There was only the bare request.) It was now half-past two.