Then she tripped back into the house, gave him a
final smile, the door closed, and there was nothing for Everett to do
but set off.
He has told me since what a dreadful walk that was. He can remember it
vividly across all the intervening years, and he declares that no
criminal on his way to the gallows could have suffered from more
agonising apprehensions. He pictured his reception in a thousand dismal
forms. He saw himself knocking at the door; the moment's suspense; the
servant facing him. What ought he to say? "Is Lady Charlton at home?"
But that was ridiculous, since he knew she was at home; should he then
walk straight in without a word? but what would the servant think? Or,
supposing--awful thought!--he had made a mistake in the date; supposing
this wasn't the night at all? He searched in his pockets for the card
with feverish eagerness, and remembered he had left it stuck in the
dining-room chimney glass.
His forehead grew damp with sweat, his hands clammy. He slackened his
speed. Why was he walking so fast? He would get there too soon: how
embarrassing to be the first arrival! Then he saw by the next baker's
shop it was on the stroke of ten, and terror lent him wings. How much
more embarrassing to arrive the last!
The Charltons lived in Harley Street, which he had no sooner reached
than he guessed that must be the house, mid-way down.
Pages:
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155