Very pale, with a bright hectic flush under the eyes, and with an unnatural brightness in the eyes themselves; with his hat drawn over his brow, and his shoulders far more rounded than when Yeldham had last seen him, Robert Streightley wrung his friend's hand, entered the room, and without invitation flung himself into a chair by the desk. The appearance of the man was so changed, the action was so contrary to his usual custom, that Charles Yeldham looked hard at him, and looking, noticed the restless quivering of his lips, the odd manner in which he plucked at his chin with his hand, the way in which from time to time he pressed his side, as though to check the beating of his heart. Yeldham noticed all these points; but his voice never betrayed him, and he said perfectly calmly,
"Well, Robert, old man, it's not often you venture into my quarters--afraid of the law, eh, old fellow?--think that I shall entangle you into a dispute with Rothschild, or show how easily you could promote a claim against the Barings? However, I'm glad to see you now you are come."
"I'm sure you are, Charley; and I know you'll be more glad to see me--I mean more ready with your sympathy and advice--when you learn that I have come to you--in trouble."
"In trouble? O yes, I recollect; I saw in the papers. Dreadful thing about Mr. Guyon; so sudden, and at such a place! Dreadful for your wife too; I suppose she feels it acutely?"
"I suppose she does. I can't say--I don't know!"
"You can't say--you don't know! Why, Hubert, old fellow, Mr. Guyon's death must--"
"I didn't come here to talk to you about Mr. Guyon's death, Yeldham; I came to speak of my own affairs."
"Why, Robert, how you--what on earth's the matter with you, man?"
"What on earth's the matter with a man whose wife--whom he adores and worships--has left him for ever?"
"Has left him for ever? Good God, Streightley, what's the matter with you; you've not been----"