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"I'm tired of waiting," said Rosamund. "Isn't it nearly time for the bus?"

"Another half-hour yet he'll be, I reckon."

She swallowed an unwise word. Had she been alone with her thoughts only for half an hour? It might have been all her life. She had sat all her life on this miserable station, waiting for a bus that would not run this side of eternity. An idea suddenly came to her and she looked in her purse. Yes, she still had over a pound left.

"Tell me," she asked Chaffage, "isn't there a garage or someplace close by where I could hire a taxi?"

"No, Miss, there ain't nowheres."

"But how do people manage if they want a taxi?"

"They hires from Mr. Catt in Doleham."

"Well, couldn't I hire from Mr. Catt? Is he on the phone?"

"Yes, Miss, he is," said Chaffage reluctantly. "But I doubt if he'll be there. He's mostly out these days."

She was losing patience.

"There must be somebody to answer the phone. Anyway, I'm going to try."

But "he" proved to be the taxi, and he was out, "taking Mr. Simons over to Barnhorn," a voice informed her.