"Lady Charlton's, sir?" queried Jeames.
My poor Everett! His imbecility will scarcely be believed.
"Thanks--no--ah--er!" he stammered feebly; "I am looking for Mr.
Browne's!"
Which was the first name that occurred to him, and he heard the men
chuckling together as he fled. After this he walked up and down the
long, accursed length of Harley Street, on the dark side of the way, no
less than seven mortal times; until, twice passing the same policeman,
his sapience began to eye the wild-faced youth with disfavour. Then he
made a tour, east, south, west, north, round the block in which Lady
Charlton's house stands, and so came round to the door once more.
Yet it was clearly impossible to present himself there now, after his
folly. It was also too late--or he thought it so. On the other hand, it
was too early to go home. Mrs. Browne had said she should not expect to
hear he was in before two or three. On this account he dared not return,
for never, never would he confess to her the depths of his cowardice! He
therefore continued street-walking with treadmill regularity, cold,
hungry, and deadly dull.
But when twelve was gone on the church clocks, he could endure it no
longer. He turned and slunk home. Delicately did he insert the key in
the door; most mouse-like did he creep in; and yet someone heard him.
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