“Susan, turn, or take off your apron, and run and fetch me a hansom.”
“Please, sir, an’ if I don’t come on an ’ansom?”
“Then a cab. Come, sharp!”
He said no more. He was agitated, because very angry. He went out for his hat and gloves, and an umbrella, opened the latter and refolded it; then he discovered that he was in a shabby morning coat, so he changed it upstairs, and put on his boots in the hall, and then returned for his newspaper.
By this time Susan had arrived, seated in a four-wheeler. She had not encountered a hansom.
“Go on,” said Welsh to his nephew, “I’ll follow.” He took his newspaper from the table, and brought it with him to the cab.
The direction was given to the driver, and the vehicle started. Welsh would not speak another word to Giles. He threw himself back with a grunt in the cab and began to read his paper.
Jingles looked dreamily forth from the window on his side. The cab was being driven along Gold Hawk Road; there was not much traffic in it that morning; a coal-cart, a Shepherd’s Bush omnibus were passed. The cabman drew up, and swore at an old lady who in crossing the road had dropped a parcel of tracts, which scattered in all directions, and who returned almost under the feet of the horse to recover some of the papers. Mr. James Welsh uttered an exclamation. Saltren did not notice it, he was in a stunned condition, unable to take observation of anything, unable to do more than reiterate in his mind, “I have made a mistake—a fatal mistake!” He was unable even to consider in what way it could be rectified, if capable of rectification. He was not in a condition to weigh his uncle’s proposals what to do with Arminell. He did not even feel his uncle’s rude remarks, they passed over him without producing an impression, so deadened were his faculties by the consternation in which he was. His brain was like a sewing-machine in full operation, with a needle in it, stab—stab—stabbing, and always carrying the same thread, “I have made a mistake—a fatal mistake!” and making therewith a lock stitch incapable of unravelment, that went round and round both heart and brain, and bound them together.
“Good God!” exclaimed Welsh, and let drop his paper on his lap. Then he turned, “Giles!” he shouted in his nephew’s ear. “Confound the fellow, are you asleep? I did think I had heard the worst, but there is worse behind! Lord—this is awful! Giles—you fool—look at the paper.”
The young man took the sheet mechanically. The fly jolted, and he could not read. He laid the paper down. “My eyes are dazzled,” he said, “I cannot make out the print. Besides, I am indifferent to news.”