"Of course not, Burton, you old fool—"
"You seem so much more restless, sir—lately—"
"I am restless—please leave me alone."
He coughed and retired.
Now I am listening again—it wants two minutes to the hour—she is never late.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—. It feels as if the blood would burst the veins—I cannot write.
She came after all, only ten minutes beyond her usual time, but they seemed an eternity when I heard the ring and Burton's slow step. I could have bounded from my chair to open the door myself.—It was a telegram! How this always happens when one is expecting anyone with desperate anxiety—A telegram from Suzette.
"I shall return to-night, Mon Chou."
Her cabbage!—Bah! I never want to see her again—.
Miss Sharp must have entered when the door was opened for the telegram, for I had begun to feel pretty low again when I heard her knock at the door of the sitting-room.