When he wakened up, in the buzz and clack of tongues that followed the close of the game, Captain Lake glared round for a moment, like a man called up from sleep; the noise rattled and roared in his ears, the talk sounded madly, and the faces of the people excited and menaced him undefinably, and he felt as if he was on the point of starting to his feet and stamping and shouting. The fact is, I suppose, he was confoundedly nervous, dyspeptic, or whatever else it might be, and the heat and glare were too much for him.
So, out he went into the chill, fresh night-air, and round the corner into the quaint main-street of Gylingden, and walked down it in the dark, nearly to the last house by the corner of the Redman's Dell road, and then back again, and so on, trying to tire himself, I think; and every time he walked down the street, with his face toward London, his yellow eyes gleamed through the dark air, with the fixed gaze of a man looking out for the appearance of a vehicle. It, perhaps, indicated an anxiety and a mental look-out in that direction, for he really expected no such thing.
Then he dropped into the 'Brandon Arms,' and had a glass of brandy and water, and a newspaper, in the coffee-room; and then he ordered a 'fly,' and drove in it to Lawyer Larkin's house—'The Lodge,' it was called—and entered Mr. Larkin's drawing-room very cheerfully.
'How quiet you are here,' said the captain. 'I have been awfully dissipated since I saw you.'
'In an innocent way, my dear Captain Lake, you mean, of course—in an innocent way.'
'Oh! no; billiards, I assure you. Do you play?'
'Oh! dear no—not that I see any essential harm in the game as a game, for those, I mean, who don't object to that sort of thing; but for a resident here, putting aside other feelings—a resident holding a position—it would not do, I assure you. There are people there whom one could not associate with comfortably. I don't care, I hope, how poor a man may be, but do let him be a gentleman. I own to that prejudice. A man, my dear Captain Lake, whose father before him has been a gentleman (old Larkin, while in the flesh, was an organist, and kept a small day school at Dwiddleston, and his grandfather he did not care to enquire after), and who has had the education of one, does not feel himself at home, you know—I'm sure you have felt the same sort of thing yourself.'
'Oh! of course; and I had such a nice walk on the common first, and then a turn up and down before the 'Brandon Arms,' where at last I read a paper, and could not resist a glass of brandy and water, and, growing lazy, came home in a 'fly,' so I think I have had a very gay evening.
Larkin smiled benignantly, and would have said something no doubt worth hearing, but at that moment the door opened, and his old cook and elderly parlour-maid—no breath of scandal ever troubled the serene fair fame of his household, and everyone allowed that, in the prudential virtues, at least, he was nearly perfect—and Sleddon the groom, walked in, with those sad faces which, I suppose, were first learned in the belief that they were acceptable to their master.
'Oh!' said Mr. Larkin, in a low, reverential tone, and the smile vanished; 'prayers!'