A big limousine had pulled up beside the footpath, and an immaculate
footman was standing by its open door, rug in hand. Diana wondered
idly whose car it could be, and it occurred to her that very probably
it belonged to the strangers who had attended the service that morning.
A minute later her assumption was confirmed, as the middle-aged lady,
followed by the young, pretty one, came quickly through the lichgate
and entered the car. The footman hesitated, still holding the door
open, and the elder lady leaned forward to say:--
"It's all right, Baker. Mr. Errington is walking back."
Errington! So that was his name--that was what the E. on the
handkerchief stood for! Diana thought she could hazard a reasonable
guess as to why he had elected to walk home. He must have caught sight
of her in church, after all, and it was but natural that, after the
experience they had passed through together, he should wish to renew
his acquaintance with her. When two people have been as near to death
in company as they had been, it can hardly be expected that they will
regard each other in the light of total strangers should they chance to
meet again.
Hidden from his sight by an intervening yew tree, she watched him
coming down the church path, conscious of a somewhat pleasurable sense
of anticipation, and when he had passed under the lichgate and, turning
to the left, came face to face with her, she bowed and smiled, holding
out her hand.
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