He walked away rapidly like a man
hurrying to catch a train, glancing from side to side as though he were
carrying something off. Could he be departing for good? Undoubtedly,
undoubtedly! But Mrs. Fyne's fervent "thank goodness" turned out to be a
bit, as the Americans--some Americans--say "previous." In a very short
time the odious fellow appeared again, strolling, absolutely strolling
back, his hat now tilted a little on one side, with an air of leisure and
satisfaction. Mrs. Fyne groaned not only in the spirit, at this sight,
but in the flesh, audibly; and asked her husband what it might mean. Fyne
naturally couldn't say. Mrs. Fyne believed that there was something
horrid in progress and meantime the object of her detestation had gone up
the steps and had knocked at the door which at once opened to admit him.
He had been only as far as the bank.
His reason for leaving his breakfast unfinished to run after Miss de
Barral's governess, was to speak to her in reference to that very errand
possessing the utmost possible importance in his eyes. He shrugged his
shoulders at the nervousness of her eyes and hands, at the half-strangled
whisper "I had to go out.
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