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What was distressing him? The purloining
of the son of the poet-tyrant by the daughter of the financier-convict.
Or only, if I may say so, the wind of their flight disturbing the solemn
placidity of the Fynes' domestic atmosphere. My incertitude did not last
long, for he added:
"Mrs. Fyne urges me to go to London at once."
One could guess at, almost see, his profound distaste for the journey,
his distress at a difference of feeling with his wife. With his serious
view of the sublunary comedy Fyne suffered from not being able to agree
solemnly with her sentiment as he was accustomed to do, in recognition of
having had his way in one supreme instance; when he made her elope with
him--the most momentous step imaginable in a young lady's life. He had
been really trying to acknowledge it by taking the rightness of her
feeling for granted on every other occasion. It had become a sort of
habit at last. And it is never pleasant to break a habit. The man was
deeply troubled. I said: "Really! To go to London!"
He looked dumbly into my eyes. It was pathetic and funny.


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