His first act was characteristic. He rushed in a tempest to the coffee stall, where he announced his departure and his marriage to Nell, to whom for the final time he brought the agony of a destiny despised. Refreshed by this coup de grace on the woman he had never forgiven, he hurried chastened and cheerful to Sheila.
At first he had opposed a religious ceremony. He professed himself an atheist. When one ceases to believe in man, one does not believe in God. Sheila, who was really devout, would hear of nothing else. Fargus ceded, but his appearance in church had put him into a frightful humor.
Now in the cab, alone at last with the woman he had so long desired, he discovered all at once that the law, which gave him everything, gave him nothing at all. In his squat hand were the four fingers which she had ceded to him, without resistance and without feeling. He clung to them awkwardly, gingerly, knowing not what to do.
Sheila did not even feel his presence. Withdrawn as far as possible, without appearing to shun him, she nerved herself for the battle which, with sure instinct, she felt approaching. Of the two, she had all the self-possession, plus an excited mentality which stimulated all her forces at the approach of the crisis.
She was in this mood when the cab stopped at the flight of red brick dwellings, before the stoop above which the tin sailor was whirling his paddles. She had a slight surprise. It was not elegance; but she had dreaded worse.
"It's not so discouraging," she thought, as she jumped out full of anticipation. "It is not bad—to begin with."
Astonished to find the shades down, she rang impatiently, then turning to Fargus, who was disputing furiously with the driver, she cried:
"Is this right? Have I made a mistake?"
"In a moment, I have the key," he cried, dismissing the driver and hurrying up.
"Ah!" she thought, drawing breath like a gladiator entering the arena. "I'm to have no servant, then!"