With the stolid resistance to unpleasant facts characteristic of his nation, George treated this decision with utter contempt, and indeed believed that Ben Hassan would not dare to push the case further. But on arriving home one rainy day early in the following month, he found his apartments occupied by two huissiers, who were busily employed in dragging out into the hall poor Nouna’s trunks and such furniture as they had bought themselves, which the landlady, anxious to save her own things, was pointing out to them. Nouna, deathly white and shaking from head to foot, was crouching on the sofa, drawing her breath heavily, and watching them with bright and burning eyes. Fear of what the consequences of this scene might be to her sobered George in his first fierce outburst of indignation. She had hardly moved when he came in, only glancing up at him in shame and terror at what she knew to be the result of her own indiscretion. He went up to the sofa and reassured her by the kind, firm, protecting pressure of his hand upon her head, while he asked the men by what authority they were acting. They showed him their warrant; nothing could be more correct. He asked them whether they would desist from their work and remain in the hall outside for half an hour, while he went to a friend to try to raise the money. The men consented at once, and retired while George, soothing his agitated wife as well as he could, carried her into the next room, laid her on the bed, and covering her with a rug, told her not to worry herself, as it would be all right in half an hour, when he would be back again with her, and the men would go away satisfied.
With his hand on the door he looked back yearningly. She was quieter now, but as she leaned on her elbows and watched him with feverish eyes, it seemed to him that her gaze was wandering and unintelligent, and that the real matter-of-fact trouble which was sending him on his unpleasant errand had melted in her excited mind to a dim and horrible dread.
“George, don’t go, don’t go!” rang in his ears as he went down the stairs and out of the house.
Poor George felt that he had never in his life had anything quite so distasteful to do as the task he had before him now of asking a favour of Mr. Gurton. But there was no help for it, and so he put the best face he could upon the matter, got to the bank, where his chief was, he knew, still at this hour to be found, and knocked at the door of his private room.
“Come in,” called out the well-known husky voice.
Mr. Gurton was reading a letter. His face was flushed and his eyes were dull, but he had as much command of himself as usual.
“Oh, it’s you, is it? What do you want?” he asked with the extra shade of surliness which he used towards the people he did not like.
“Yes, sir,” said George. “I am sorry to disturb you after office hours, but it is upon a matter of so much importance to me that I hope you will excuse my coming to you.”
“Well, what is it? Be quick.”
The words, the appeal, stuck in the young man’s throat; but out they must come.