Having wrought himself to this point of insensate revolt, he quitted his musing-station on the bridge, and walked away.
Nancy did not write again. There passed four or five days, and Tarrant, working hard as well as enjoying the pleasures of Society, made up his mind not to see her. He would leave events to take their course. A heaviness of heart often troubled him, but he resisted it, and told himself that he was becoming stronger.
After a long day of writing, he addressed a packet to a certain periodical, and went out to post it. No sooner had he left the house than a woman, who had been about to pass him on the pavement, abruptly turned round and hurriedly walked away. But for this action, he would not have noticed her; as it was, he recognised the figure, and an impulse which allowed of no reflection brought him in a moment to her side. In the ill-lighted street a face could with difficulty be observed, but Nancy’s features were unmistakable to the eye that now fell upon them.
‘Stop, and let me speak to you,’ he exclaimed.
She walked only the more quickly, and he was obliged to take her by the arm.
‘What do you want?’
She spoke as if to an insolent stranger, and shook off his grasp.
‘If you have nothing to say to me, why are you here?’
‘Here? I suppose the streets are free to me?’
‘Nothing would bring you to Great College Street if you didn’t know that I was living here. Now that we have met, we must talk.’