So he went to Dulwich, uncertain if he should
send in his card begging for an interview, or if he should just push
past the servant into the music-room, always supposing Innes were at
home.
"Mr. Innes is at home," the servant-girl answered.
"Is he in the music-room?"
"Yes, sir. What name?"
"No name is necessary. I will announce myself," and he pushed past
the girl.... "Excuse me, Mr. Innes, for coming into your house so
abruptly, but I was afraid you mightn't see me if I sent in my name,
and it would be impossible for me to go back to London without
seeing you. You don't know me."
"I do. You are Sir Owen Asher."
"Yes, and have come because I can't live any longer without having
some news of Evelyn. You know my story--how she sent me away. There
is nothing to tell you; she has been here, I know, and has told you
everything. But perhaps you don't know I have just come from the
desert, having gone there hoping to forget her, and have come out of
the desert uncured. You will tell me where she is, won't you?"
Innes did not answer for some while.
"My daughter went to America."
"Yes, I know that. I have just come from there, but I could not see
her.
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