‘What else could I do on hearing such news?’
‘I told you I should write again, and I said plainly that it was better we shouldn’t see each other for some time.—Why will people pester me out of my life?—I’m not a child to be hunted like this!’
On the instant, he had fallen into a state of excitement which alarmed his sister. There were drops of sweat on his forehead, and tears in his eyes; the blood had rushed to his cheeks, and he trembled violently.
‘I am so troubled about you,’ said Nancy, with anxious tenderness. ‘I have been looking forward with such hope to your marriage,—and now—’
‘I can’t tell you anything about it just now. It was all Mrs. Damerel’s doing; the engagement, I mean. It’s a good thing I drew back in time.—But I have a train to catch; I really mustn’t stay talking.’
‘Are you going far, Horace?’
‘To Bournemouth again,—for the present. I’ve given up these rooms, and I’m taking all my things away. In a month or two I may go abroad; but I’ll let you know.’
Already he was out of the room; his sister had no choice but to follow him downstairs. He looked so ill, and behaved with such lack of self-restraint, that Nancy kept her eyes upon him in an awestricken gaze, as though watching some one on the headlong way to destruction. Pouring rain obliged her to put up her umbrella as she stepped down on to the pavement. Horace, having shouted a direction to the driver, entered the cab.
‘You haven’t even shaken hands with me, Horace,’ Nancy exclaimed, standing at the window.
‘Good-bye, dear; good-bye! You shouldn’t have come in weather such as this. Get home as fast as you can. Good-bye!—Tell the fellow to drive sharp.’