He spoke with the same grave slowness, and bowed formally, as if to go.
The lady rose, and of her own volition offered him her hand. “Perhaps things will alter in her mind. I am so sorry!” she said.
The young man permitted himself a ghostly half-smile. “It is only when I have thought it all over that I shall know whether I am sorry or not,” he said, and bowing again he left her.
Out by the gate, standing on the gravel-path wet with November rain and strewn with damp, fallen leaves, the General waited for him. The air had grown chill, and the sky was spreading a canopy for the night of gloomy gray clouds. The two men, without a word, fell into step, and walked down the street together. What was there to say?
Horace, striding silently along with his teeth tight set, his head bowed and full of fierce confusion of thought, and his eyes angrily fixed on the nothing straight ahead, became, all at once, aware that his office-boy was approaching on the sidewalk, whistling dolefully to suit the weather, and carrying his hands in his pockets.
“Where are you going, Robert?” the lawyer demanded, stopping the lad, and speaking with the aggressive abruptness of a man longing to affront all about him.
“To Mrs. Minster’s,” answered the boy, wondering what was up, and confusedly taking his hands out of his pockets.
“What for?” This second question was even more sharply put.
“This letter from Mr. Tracy.” The boy took a letter from the inside of his coat, and then added: “I said Mrs. Minster, but the letter is for her daughter. I’m to give it to her herself.”
“I’ll take charge of it myself,” said Horace, with swift decision, stretching out his hand.