He saw Bridgewater, the old chief clerk, come out and make off down Southampton Row with a bag in his hand.
Three-quarters of an hour had gone, and Leavesley had taken his watch out for the twentieth time, when from the doorway of No. — Fanny appeared, a glimmer of blue like a butterfly just broken from its chrysalis.
Leavesley made two steps towards her, then he paused. Immediately after Fanny came James Hancock, umbrella in hand, and hat on the back of his head.
He was accompanying her.
Fanny glanced in Leavesley's direction, and then she and her companion walked away down Southampton Row, Hancock walking with his long stride; Fanny trotting beside him, neither, apparently, speaking one to the other.
Leavesley followed full of amazement.
He could tell from his uncle's manner of walking, and from the way he wore his hat, that he was either irritated or perplexed. He walked hurriedly, and, viewed from behind, he had the appearance of a physician who was going to an urgent case.
Much marvelling, the artist followed. He saw Hancock hail a passing four-wheeler, and open the door. Fanny got in, her companion gave some directions to the driver, got in after the girl, closed the door, and the cab drove off.
"Now, what on earth can this mean?" asked Mr Leavesley, taking off his hat and drawing his hand across his brow.