“I will not take anything,” returned George, holding out his hand to depart.
“But you are not going again in this hasty manner! What sort of a visit do you call this?”
“A hasty one,” replied George. “I must be at Prior’s Ash this afternoon. Any message to Charlotte?”
“Why—yes—I have,” said Mrs. Verrall, with some emphasis. “I was about to despatch a small parcel this very next hour to Charlotte, by post. But—when shall you see her? To-night?”
“I can see her to-night if you wish it.”
“It would oblige me much. The truth is, it is something I ought to have sent yesterday, and I forgot it. Be sure and let her have it to-night.”
Mrs. Verrall rang, and a small packet, no larger than a bulky letter, was brought in. George took it, and was soon being whirled back to London.
He stepped into a cab at the Waterloo Station, telling the man he should have double pay if he drove at double speed: and it conveyed him to Mr. Verrall’s chambers.
George went straight to Mr. Brompton’s room, as before. That gentleman had finished his Times, and was buried deep in a pile of letters. “Is Mr. Verrall in now?” asked George.
“He is here now, Mr. Godolphin. He was here two minutes after you departed: it’s a wonder you did not meet.”