"That's the devil of it, Anthony—I—don't know. But I have a vague fear—a presentiment, if you like. I feel as if there was a dreadful something impending—a shadow—"
"Oh, pshaw, man! Shadow? Tush an' be damned to it! You're in a devilish low state—indubitably stomach—"
Here further converse was ended for the time being by Wildfire taking it into his head to snort and start, to prance and shiver at a large man in velveteens and a leather hat, whereupon Velveteens backed hastily and swore; Wildfire reared and plunged at him, whereupon Velveteens dodged into a doorway, cursing vehemently; people, at a safe distance, shouted; boys hooted; and then, having thus drawn attention to himself, Wildfire trotted daintily on again, leaving Velveteens spent and breathless with indignant cursings.
So with such minor unpleasantnesses as roaring oaths, curses and personal vilification, we won free of the denser traffic and had at last left the great city behind us and Wildfire's scornful hoofs were spurning the dust of Kent Street.
We rode by New Cross and Lewisham, through Lee Village with its two "Tiger" Inns and the stocks upon the green, through Eltham with the timeworn gables of its ancient palace rising on our right, dreaming of past glories.
"To-morrow night, Perry—to-morrow night we shall see 'em! My Loveliness! Egad, I'm only just beginning to realise how damnably I miss her! Wonderful institution, marriage. To-morrow, Perry! And the day after—home at Nettlestead Abbey—she and I. She loves the old place—and the roses will be in bloom—she adores roses. This is why I'm dragging you down to Nettlestead—must see everything shipshape—the old place ready—with its arms out to welcome her home, d'ye see—as it were."
"It is a glorious old place, Anthony."
"A curst dreary hole without her, Perry! Nothing like marriage, Perry!
You'll give up your chambers when you're married, of course?"
"I suppose so, Tony—when I'm married."
"Aha!" he exclaimed, evidently struck by my gloomy tone. "Is it your damned shadow again—the blue devils? Oh, curse and confound 'em, I'll race you t' the next milestone for ten guineas. Come on! Yoicks, boy—hark forward! A touch o' the persuaders—and away!"