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Updated: May 13, 2025
He couldn't get lodgings at Chetwood itself, so he's put up for the present at the White Lion, at Tilgate, and runs over by train every day to Warnworth. It's three stations away four off Lavington. He'd have been daubing for an hour in the wood by that time." "Well, I didn't attach any great importance to it myself," Nevitt went on, unconcerned. "I thought most likely Cyril wouldn't be there.
At last Cyril ventured on a single remark. "How lucky," he said, in an undertone, "I didn't get out at Warnworth after all. It would have been dreadful if you'd been left all alone in this position." Elma glanced up at him with a sudden rush of gratitude.
"You see, if he went to work, he'd have got out at Warnworth; and if he meant to come to town to consult his dentist, he'd have taken the 9.30 express straight through from Tilgate, which gets up to London twenty-five minutes earlier." "Well, but why to consult his dentist in particular?" Nevitt asked with a smile.
She gave a sharp little start. "Warnworth!" she cried, flushing up, with some slight embarrassment in her voice; "why, that's ever so far back. We're long past Warnworth. We ran by it three or four stations behind; in fact, it's the next place to Chetwood, where I got in at." Cyril Waring looked up with a half-guilty smile as embarrassed as her own. "Oh yes," he said quietly.
"I knew that quite well. I'm down here often. It's half-way between Chetwood and Warnworth I'm painting. But I thought well, if you'll excuse me saying it, I thought I was so comfortable and so happy where I was, that I might just as well go on a station or two more, and then pay the difference, and take the next train back to Warnworth.
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