As he entered the Mitre, sick with chagrin, and telling himself he might
have known that something of this kind would come of stooping to vulgar
company, he bethought him--for the first time in an hour--of the girl.
'Lord!' he said, thinking of her request, her passion, and her splendid
eyes; and he stood. For the âge des philosophes, destiny seemed to be
taking too large a part in the play. This must be the very man with whom
she had striven to embroil him!
His servant's voice broke in on his thoughts. 'At what hour will your
honour please to be called?' he asked, as he carried off the laced
coat and wig.
Soane stifled a groan. 'Called?' he said. 'At half-past six. Don't
stare, booby! Half-past six, I said. And do you go now, I'll shift for
myself. But first put out my despatch-case, and see there is pen and
ink. It's done? Then be off, and when you come in the morning bring the
landlord and another with you.'
The man lingered. 'Will your honour want horses?' he said.
'I don't know. Yes! No! Well, not until noon. And where is my sword? 'I was taking it down to clean it, sir.'
'Then don't take it; I will look to it myself. And mind you, call me at
the time I said.'