Max was seated in one of the windows of his club, as he ran over his arrangements; then rising, he ordered a cab, and drove away, ignorant of the fact that the hall boy was imitating his gestures for the benefit of the porter, who was convulsed with laughter.
That same day, without a word to Sir Philip, Charley started for town.
A week later, and, to his surprise, Charley Vining, who was staying at Long’s, involuntarily raised his hat as the Brays’ carriage passed him, with Mrs Bray and Laura on the back seat, Nelly and a stranger on the front. So introspective was Charley as he stood upon the hotel steps, that the carriage would have passed him unnoticed if a loud shrill voice had not shouted his name, when, starting and looking up, he saw Nelly, flushed and excited, leaning over the side of the barouche, as if ready to jump into his arms. But the carriage passed on; and though by a little exertion he might easily have overtaken it in the crowded street, beyond raising his hat, Charley made no movement.
Ten minutes after, an empty hansom passing, Charley hailed it, gave his orders, and was soon being spun along through the streets, thinking over the encounter he had just had, and wondering whether Sir Philip Vining would be the next to make his appearance.
“To see what I am doing!” said Charley bitterly. And then his thoughts reverted to the past, and he came to the conclusion that it does not fall to the lot of any of us to pass a life of uninterrupted happiness, such as his had been until he first set eyes upon Ella.
“Branksome-street, sir?” cried the driver through his little trap-door. “Number nineteen, sir?”
“How did you know that I wanted number nineteen?” said Charley pettishly; “I did not name a number.”
“Lor’ bless you, sir, this makes, I should think, a score of times I’ve been here in the course of a couple of years’ hansom-driving. I never come wunst when it was a growler I druv. You want number nineteen, sir—private-inkviry orfice—that’s what you want.”
“And how did you know that?” said Charley, who could not help feeling amused.
“How did I know that, sir?” grinned the man. “It’s a sort of instinkt, sir, as is only possessed by drivers of kebs. Here you are, sir—number nineteen. Up on the first floor for Mr Whittrick.”