"Never, never, never more must I cross that threshold," he told himself as he walked away.
He stopped on the other side of the road, and looked back at the great handsome house, so dull externally, with its long rows of uniform windows, its massive pediment and heavy iron railings, with the tall extinguishers on each side of the door in a flourish of hammered iron.
"If I ever enter that house again I shall deserve to perish everlastingly," he thought.
'Twas four o'clock, and the sun was blazing, a midsummer afternoon in early May. He walked to his house in Lambeth like a man in a dream, from which he seemed to wake with a startled air when his wife ran out into the passage to welcome him.
"How pale you look," she said. "Is it one of your old headaches?"
"No, no; 'tis nothing but the sudden heat. You are pale enough yourself, poor little woman! Come, Lucy, give me an early tea, and I'll take you and the boy for a jaunt up the river."
"Oh, George, how good you are! 'Tis near a year since you gave us a treat, or yourself a holiday."
"I have worked too hard, perhaps, and might have given you more pleasure. 'Tis difficult not to be selfish, even in trying to do good."
"I'll have tea ready in a jiffy, and Georgie dressed. I've been sitting at the window watching the boats, and wishing ever so to be on the river."
"Thou shalt have thy wish for this once, love," he said gently.