legraphforrooms.Theyhadsupperalone.MissAbbottdidnotcomedown.ThelandladytoldthemthatSignorCarellahadcalledonMissAbbotttosaygood-bye,butshe,thoughin,hadnotbeenabletoseehim.Shealsotoldthemthatithadbeguntorain.Harrietsighed,butindicatedtoherbrotherthathewasnotresponsible.
Thecarriagescameroundataquarterpasteight.Itwasnotrainingmuch,butthenightwasextraordinarilydark,andoneofthedriverswantedtogoslowlytothestation.MissAbbottcamedownandsaidthatshewasready,andwouldstartatonce.
“Yes,do,”saidPhilip,whowasstandinginthehall.“Nowthatwehavequarrelledwescarcelywanttotravelinprocessionallthewaydownthehill.Well,good-byeit’salloveratlastanothersceneinmypageanthasshifted.”
“Good-byeit’sbeenagreatpleasuretoseeyou.Ihopethatwon’tshift,atallevents.”Shegrippedhishand.
“Yousounddespondent,”hesaid,laughing.“Don’tforgetthatyoureturnvictorious.”
“IsupposeIdo,”shereplied,moredespondentlythanever,andgotintothecarriage.HeconcludedthatshewasthinkingofherreceptionatSawston,whitherherfamewoulddoubtlessprecedeher.WhateverwouldMrs.Herritondo?Shecouldmakethingsquiteunpleasantwhenshethoughtitright.Shemightthinkitrighttobesilent,butthentherewasHarriet.WhowouldbridleHarriet’stongue?BetweenthetwoofthemMissAbbottwasboundtohaveabadtime.Herreputation,bothforconsistencyandformoralenthusiasm,wouldbelostforever.
“It’shardluckonher,”hethought.“Sheisagoodperson.ImustdoforheranythingIcan.”Theirintimacyhadbeenveryrapid,buthetoohopedthatitwouldnotshift.Hebelievedthatheunderstoodher,andthatshe,bynow,hadseentheworstofhim.Whatifafteralongtime—ifafterall—heflushedlikeaboyashelookedafterhercarriage.
Hewentintothedining-roomtolookforHarriet.Harrietwasnottobefound.Herbedroom,too,wasempty.Allthatwasleftofherwasthepurpleprayer-bookwhichlayopenonthebed.Philiptookitupaimlessly,andsaw—“BlessedbetheLordmyGodwhoteachethmyhandstowarandmyfingerstofight.”Heputthebookinhispocket,andbegantobroodovermoreprofitablethemes.
SantaDeodatagaveouthalfpasteight.Alltheluggagewason,andstillHarriethadnotappeared.“Dependuponit,”saidthelandlady,“shehasgonetoSignorCarella’stosaygood-byetoherlittlenephew.”Philipdidnotthinkitlikely.TheyshoutedalloverthehouseandstilltherewasnoHarriet.Hebegantobeuneasy.HewashelplesswithoutMissAbbotthergrave,kindfacehadcheeredhimwonderfully,evenwhenitlookeddispleased.MonterianowassadwithouthertherainwasthickeningthescrapsofDonizettifloatedtunelesslyoutofthewineshops,andofthegreattoweroppositehecouldonlyseethebase,freshpaperedwiththeadvertisementsofquacks.
Amancameupthestreetwithanote.Philipread,“Startatonce.Pickmeupoutsidethegate.Paythebearer.H.H.”
“Didtheladygiveyouthisnote?”hecried.
Themanwasunintelligible.
“Speakup!”exclaimedPhilip.“Whogaveityou—andwhere?”
Nothingbuthorriblesighingsandbubblingscameoutoftheman.
“Bepatientwithhim,”saidthedriver,turningroundonthebox.“Itisthepooridiot.”Andthelandladycameoutofthehotelandechoed“Thepooridiot