Flying like a blind bat, from one quarter of London to another. I’ve got some business in hand, and no one will do more than gape or laugh at a fellow when he’s in terrible earnest. This cursed city! It soaks up the poor and the helpless like a sponge; but I’ll wring it dry yet—you’ll see if I don’t—you’ll see——
[He twists the arm-chair round and sits facing the fire.]
Leslie.
[To Hugh, in a whisper.] I told you so—he is searching for her.
Hugh Murray.
Yes.
Leslie.
What should I do if he found her!
Hugh Murray.
Nothing. Leave everything to chance.