“Why on earth can’t you let the poor woman alone?” I asked, ignoring his hand.
“I am doing my duty to God and to her,” said he.
“With the result that you have driven her into hysterics.”
“She’ll get over them,” said he.
“I wish you good-day,” said I. “We might talk together for a thousand years without understanding each other.”
“Pardon me,” he retorted, with the utmost urbanity. “I understand you perfectly.”
He accompanied me to the dining-room where I had left my hat and umbrella, and to the flat door which he politely opened. When it shut behind me I felt inclined to batter it open again and to take Judith by main force from under his nose. But I suppose I am pusillanimous. I found myself in the street brandishing my umbrella like a flaming sword and vowing to perform all sorts of Paladin exploits, which I knew in my heart were futile.
I hailed an omnibus in the Tottenham Court Road, and clambered to the top, though a slight drizzle was falling. Why I did it I have not the remotest idea, for I abhor those locomotive engines of exquisite discomfort. I had no preconceived notion of destination. It was a moving thing that would carry me away from the Tottenham Court Road, away from the Rev. Rupert Mainwaring, away from myself. I was the solitary occupant of the omnibus roof. The rain fell, softly, persistently, soakingly. I laughed aloud.
I recognised the predestined irony of things that at every corner checks the course of the ineffectual man.