Lord Cecil reached his chambers in the gray of the summer morning, looking like a man who had received sentence of death, and yet hoped that by some chance a reprieve might save him.
Not until the train started had he remembered that the steam packet-office would not be open until ten o’clock, and, yielding to the respectful entreaties of his man, who was deeply attached to him, and saw with dismay the change which the last few days had made in him, Lord Cecil threw himself on the bed. But he found it impossible to rest there, and spent the long hours pacing up and down, vainly trying to draw encouragement from a remembrance of Lady Grace’s assertion of faith in Doris.
“She believed in her, and she does not know her; how much more should I trust in her, who do know her? And yet this letter!” and he took it out and read it for the hundredth time.
Long before ten he had a bath, drank a cup of coffee to appease his valet, and, dressing himself, went down in a cab to the office of the Australian Steamship Company.
He was there before the office opened, and had to wait for a quarter of an hour. While he was pacing up and down, smoking a cigar, with fierce impatience, a quietly-dressed man, in a brown pot hat, sauntered up, glanced at him casually, and passed by; then, as if he had remembered something, took out his watch, and returned at a quick pace, so quickly, indeed, that he almost ran against Lord Cecil, and offered profuse apologies.
A few minutes after ten a yawning boy wound up the iron shutters, and Lord Cecil went into the office.
“I want to know——” he commenced; but the boy, struggling with a yawn which threatened to bisect his face, said, languidly:
“Clerks not here yet; don’t know nothing myself.”
Lord Cecil inquired when they would be there, was told five minutes, ten, perhaps; lit another cigar; was informed by the intelligent lad that he mustn’t smoke in the office; flung the cigar away, and strode to the door, nearly knocking over the quiet-looking gentleman in the brown hat, who was looking in at the door inquiringly.
Ten minutes—a quarter of an hour passed, and at last a clerk arrived; and Lord Cecil made for him as if he were going to demand his life.