“Give her this, not to-night, you understand, to-morrow morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here’s something for your trouble.” He pulled out a coin, handed it to the porter, and turned on his heel. The porter’s voice pursued him abruptly.
“Beg y’r pardon, sir, you giv’ me a sov’reign, sir.”
“Oh! did I? All right!”
The rustling in the trees outside was refreshing, the river consolingly dark and profound. He muttered irrelevantly to himself: “Here endeth the first lesson,” and leant against the stone parapet of the embankment, looking at the rows of lighted windows, and wondering which was hers. The dark figure of the porter, legs apart, was still outlined in the lighted cave of the open doorway. With a feeling of being “moved on,” Giles set his face eastwards by the side of the quiet river. Over the busy part of the town the dark vault of the sky was powdered with innumerable gold specks, and there was a hum, as of gigantic insects, in the air. He walked a few paces, and became suddenly conscious of the fact that he was dog-tired. Hailing a “hansom” he drove home in it, more than half asleep.
When he came out of the hotel the next day, a bright sun was staining wet patches of the pavement a ruddy orange, the air was clear, and the streets had a freshly-washed appearance. He had some matters of business to attend to, and he forced himself to go about them. He found nevertheless, in the afternoon, that he was at the Mansions fully half-an-hour too soon, and he paced restlessly backwards and forwards along the embankment until the appointed time.
CHAPTER XXIV
When four o’clock sounded at last, he walked into the hall of the Mansions. As he mounted the stairs his sensations were not enviable.
Would she be in? Would she see him? Alone? He felt that he would almost rather not see her at all than in the presence of other people. His heart beat till he felt sick, and he paused for some minutes, outside the door, before ringing the bell.