He doesn't care
how much anxiety he gives other people."
Mr. Woodstock was excited and angry.
"But he will certainly go--go _there_ in the morning, wherever he
is," said Julian.
"I'm not so sure of that. I believe it's on that very account that
he's keeping out of the way!"
He smote his fist on the palm of the other hand with the emphasis of
conviction. Julian looked at him with an expression of wonder. There
was a short silence, and then Mr. Woodstock began to speak more
calmly. The conversation lasted only about a quarter of an hour. Mr.
Woodstock then returned to his cab, which had waited, and Julian
bade him good night at the door.
At six o'clock Julian arose. It was still quite dark when he left
the house, and the air was piercing. But he did not mind the weather
this morning. His step had a vigour very different from the trailing
weariness of the night before, and he looked straight before him as
he walked. There was a heat on his forehead which the raw breath of
the morning could not allay. Before he had gone half a mile, he
flung open his overcoat, as if it oppressed him. It was in the
direction of Westminster that he walked. Out of Victoria Street he
took the same turn as on one miserable night, one which he had taken
on many a night since then.
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