"Yes, I should."
They went up into the rooms. Masterman's name was still upon the glass door of the outer office. The desk that he had used was in its place beneath the window. But there was dust upon the furniture, dust upon the windows, and a kind of ghostly loneliness in the deserted rooms.
"I've a fancy for sitting at that desk again, Arthur."
He sat quite silent, his hat tilted back, his fingers drumming on the elbows of the chair.
"Let us go, father. It's too lonely."
"Yes—lonely," he said in a low voice. "The place that knew you knows you no more for ever. It's a queer sensation. No more—for ever!"
They left the room, went downstairs; and Arthur noticed with astonishment that Masterman gave the obsequious Perkins a sovereign.
"Oh! you needn't look like that," said Masterman. "I can afford it. And if I couldn't afford it I should do it. Perkins still has his illusions concerning me, and it isn't worth while destroying them. He very likely thinks I'm going to rent the offices again. Well, let him think it."
They left the city and turned northward. The evening had fallen when they reached Highbourne Gardens. The church shone with lighted windows, and on the misty air there floated out the sound of hymn-music. Eagle House reared a dim bulk through the mist. A white-painted board, just beside the gate, informed the public that the house was to be sold.
"Come away," said Arthur. "I can't bear it!"