Just A Girl by Charles Garvice

It has been remarked more than once that truth is stranger than fiction; certainly no one, however highly imaginative, would have planned out a stranger and more improbable game of cross-purposes than was played by Trafford and Norman that night.

Trafford had wandered about in a Heaven-forsaken way from his rooms to the club, and through the park, just missing Norman by a minute or two; possessed by that restlessness which insomnia by night and brooding over his troubles by day had superinduced. If the porter had been in when Trafford wandered into the club on the second occasion, he would have heard of Norman's call and inquiry for him, and the two men would have met, explanations would have ensued, and some portion of the awful load would have been lifted from Trafford's mind. But the porter had gone out to meet the young woman to whom he was engaged, and had not transferred Norman's message to the footman.