" And then just these . . . these hobbies of his, of which he
had made so much. Now that he was alone with himself he saw them in a
very different light. Lepidoptera collected years since were still
unregistered, plants and stones unclassified; his poor efforts at
elucidating the Bible waited to be brought into line with the Higher
Criticism; Home's levitations and fire-tests called for investigation;
while the leaves of some of the books he had cited had never even been
cut. The mere thought of these things was provocative, rest-destroying.
To induce drowsiness he went methodically through the list of his
acquaintances, and sought to range them under one or other of Tangye's
headings. And over this there came moments when he lapsed into
depths . . . fetched himself up again--but with an effort . . . only to
fall back. . . .
But he seemed barely to have closed his eyes when the night-bell rang.
In an instant he was on his feet in the middle of the room, applying
force to his sleep-cogged wits.
He threw open the sash. "Who's there? What is it?"
Henry Ocock's groom. "I was to fetch you out to our place at once,
governor."
"But--Is Mrs. Henry taken ill?"
"Not as I know of," said the man dryly. "But her and the boss had a bit
of a tiff on the way home, and Madam's excited-like."
"And am I to pay for their tiffs?" muttered Mahony hotly.
"Hush, Richard! He'll hear you," warned Mary, and sat up.
"I shall decline to go.
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