Young St. Ives set out before them, and was in London last night. He drove directly to my lodgings, and I was fortunately at home. This did not look as if I were in the secret; and if he had any suspicions he had not the courage to intimate them.
I condoled with him, said it was a strange affair, a riddle I could not read, a mystery which time must elucidate, for it baffled all conjecture. He did little more than echo me, and I pretended I would have ridden half over the world to recover his sister, had there been but the least clue; but there was not, and I found myself obliged to sit still in despair and astonishment.
He said it was all very true, and he was very tired. He should therefore drive home, get some refreshment, and go to bed. This fellow, Fairfax, walks on two legs, looks the world in the face, and counts for one on the muster-roll. 'But nature, crescent in him, grew only in thews and bulk.' Yet on the parade, fools and gapers will mistake him for a man.
Contention with Anna St. Ives is honourable, but to seem to shrink from beings like these, or to practise concealment with such mere images of entity, is repugnant to the generous scorn they merit and inspire. Imperious necessity however prescribes law, and I took care to prevent Sir Arthur's visit to me, by having notice sent me of his arrival, and immediately going to the encounter.
To anticipate is to overturn the card-castles of this puny race. Come upon them unexpectedly, stare at them undauntedly, and interrogate them abruptly, and they are put to the rout. Their looks even intreat pardon for the ill they thought, but durst not utter.
Sir Arthur I own beheld me with a suspicious eye; and though he endeavoured to seem to credit me, he did it with an aukward air.
Mrs. Clarke hearing I was there came in, and exceeding even all her former fervour, importuned me, in the most direct and vehement manner, to tell what I had done with Mr. Henley and her dear young lady. She more than ever disconcerted me. Her exuberant passion addressed itself alternately to me and her master. Her tears as well as her words were abundant, her urgency and ardour extreme, and she ended her apostrophe with again conjuring me to tell what was become of her dear, dear young lady!
'Ay, pray, pray do'—whimpered the baronet in a maudlin tone, moved by the unfeigned passion of his housekeeper. I gave him a look, and the driveller added—'if you know.'
I was glad of a pretence to get away, and after telling him the distress of his mind was the only apology for his conduct, I instantly quitted him, without any effort on his part to detain me.
Among other things, Mrs. Clarke repeatedly reproached herself for not having written or sent to my sister; and the knight acknowledged—'Ay, it was very neglectful! But his mind had been so disturbed that he had forgotten it too!'