“No, sir,” cried Humphrey, flinging down his hat, and then picking it up—“I’ll be blessed if I can. This has put my head all in a buzz, like bees swarming, and I can’t understand it a bit.”
He left the room, and Richard gave a sigh of relief, seating himself at his table, and taking up a pen to write; but only to rest his head upon his hand, and stare before him, dazed—crushed.
“Please, sir, Mrs Lloyd says can you make it convenient to see her?” said the footman; and then he started back, astounded at his master’s anger.
“No,” roared Richard, “I will see no one. Let me be left alone.”
Then he hastily wrote a letter to Pratt, and fastened it down before dropping it in the letter-bag, and threw it into the hall.
He had hardly finished before, knocking first softly, Lloyd opened the door, to stand trembling before him.
Richard pointed to the door.
“Go,” he said, hoarsely. “I can’t talk to you now. Another time—in a week—in a month—wait until then.”
“But—”
“Go—for Heaven’s sake, go!” cried Richard, frantically.