With a contemptuous sniff she led away the reluctant Joan. William continued his pilgrimage alone. He went slowly. He went slowly for two reasons. One was that the thought of the journey down the village street filled even William's heart with apprehension.
The other was that his trousers were coming unrolled and his hands were so far up the long sleeves of the coat that he could not extricate them. He was glad that dusk was at last falling. He was aware that a tall figure was approaching from the opposite direction. He shrank into the shadow of the hedge, and hoped that it would pass without observing him. It did not. It stood in front of him, barring his way, and slowly adjusted a monocle. With a sinking heart, William looked up into the face of Joan's father.
"Excuse me, young man," said that gentleman, "but either you and I patronise the same tailor and have had identical ideas this spring as to style and material, or—or," his hand descended firmly and held the back of William's neck, "or you are wearing a suit of my clothes, in which case I must ask you to come home with me and take them off."
He began to impel William gently back towards his house.
"If you'd jus' let me explain," said William, pathetically.
"Explanations," said Mr. Clive, transferring his hold from William's neck to the collar of his coat, "are tedious, unsatisfactory things. Why trouble yourself with them? I merely ask of you, as one gentleman of another, that you will return to me the garments that you seem to have absentmindedly appropriated."
Even William's spirits were crushed by the repeated blows of fate. He did not speak again till he was face to face with his captor in the library of Joan's house, but with Joan nowhere to be seen. He was pale and stern.
"But I've nothin' else to wear," he said, "nothin'. You don' want me to go all the way home in nothin'?"
"What," said Mr. Clive, "were you wearing before you purloined my suit?"
"I was wearin' a table-cloth, but——"