Chapter VIII
“WHITE’S”
Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the
ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse
rapidly approaching its last days. "
"By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. "
Mrs. “I suppose delusions are not
uncommon to patients in his condition. “This is a very foolish sort of entertainment. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with
some man?”
“What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad
as to go off alone?”
“After—after what had happened the night before?”
“Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face
as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the
very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and
there, sure enough, was yours. You represented to us the immaculate
Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of
our race.
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