‘Why go indoors just yet?’ he asked himself. Then turning to the porter, he said: ‘Take those traps into the hotel and secure a bedroom for me. Then find out whether you have a Lady Renshaw and a Miss Wynter staying in the hotel, and come back at once and let me know.’ ‘Yes, sir—Lady Renshaw and Miss Wynter.—What name shall I have put down for the bedroom—your name, sir?’ ‘My name? Um. By-the-bye, what _is_ my name?’ the young man asked himself in some perplexity. Then his face brightened, and he said impressively: ‘My name is Mr Golightly.’ ‘Yes, sir—the Reverend Mr Golightly.’ ‘No, sir’—with severity—‘not the Reverend Mr Golightly. Plain Mr Golightly—of London.’ ‘Yes, sir. Plain Mr Golightly. I’ll be sure not to forget. Back in five minutes, sir.’ Mr Golightly went and sat down in the welcome shade of the elm. ‘I’m fairly in for it now,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve passed the Rubicon, and there’s no going back. If they are not here already, they will be sure to arrive by the next train. Will Bella recognise me in this rig-out, I wonder? Upon my word, I don’t think she will.’ Presently the porter came back. ‘No ladies stopping here by the name you spoke of, sir,’ said the man. ‘At what hour is the table-d’hôte?’ ‘At seven o’clock, sir.—Got you a very nice bedroom, sir—splendid view across the lake. No. 65, sir.’ ‘When is the next train due in from London?’ ‘One about due in now, sir. The drive from the station takes about twenty minutes. Thank ye, sir.’ ‘About twenty minutes; I may as well wait here,’ remarked Mr Golightly to himself as soon as the man had left him. ‘This will be a capital “coign of vantage” from which to spot the arrivals.’ He yawned, crossed his legs, and produced from his pocket a soberly bound little volume, which might have been a volume of sermons, only it was not. He read a page or two, then he yawned again, and then he shut up the book. ‘No, not even Alphonse Daudet has power to charm me this afternoon. Will she come?—will she not come? Does she love me?—does she not love me? Upon my word, I’m in a regular fever; pulse about a hundred and twenty to the minute. I wonder why they can’t inoculate one for love, the same as they do for other things. A mild attack for about a week, and then we should get over it for life.’ Suddenly he started and threw a keen look at the two young people some little distance away, whom he had scarcely noticed before. ‘Archie Ridsdale, by all that’s wonderful! I’ve not seen him for a century. Does Lady Renshaw know that he’s here, I wonder? and is she dragging Bella down to this place that she may try to catch the rich baronet’s son for her niece’s husband? It’s just like one of her ladyship’s moves. Well, I’m not going to worry myself with jealousy. Besides, somebody at the club said that Archie had engaged himself to a girl without a penny. I wonder whether that is the demoiselle in question. She looks pretty enough to turn any fellow’s head.’