he ordinary routine of work.
Yet the hour came, and he had heard nothing. He was tempted to go at
once to Westbourne Park, but reason prevailed with him. When he again
entered the house, having walked at his utmost speed from the City Road,
the letter lay waiting for him; it had been pushed beneath his door, and
when he struck a match he found that one of his feet was upon the white
envelope.

Amy wrote that she would be at home at eleven to-morrow morning. Not
another word.

In all probability she knew of the offer that had been made to him; Mrs
Carter would have told her. Was it of good or of ill omen that she wrote
only these half-dozen words? Half through the night he plagued himself
with suppositions, now thinking that her brevity promised a welcome,
now that she wished to warn him against expecting anything but a cold,
offended demeanour. At seven he was dressed; two hours and a half had
to be killed before he could start on his walk westward. He would have
wandered about the streets, but it rained.

He had made himself as decent as possible in appearance, but he must
necessarily seem an odd Sunday visitor at a house such as Mrs Yule's.
His soft felt hat, never brushed for months, was a greyish green, and
stained round the band with perspiration. His necktie was discoloured
and worn. Coat and waistcoat might pass muster, but of the trousers the
less said the better. One of his boots was patched, and both were all
but heelless.

Very well; let her see him thus. Let her understand what it meant to
live on twelve and sixpence a week.

Though it was cold and wet he could not put on his overcoat. Three
years ago it had been a fairly good ulster; at present, the edges of the
sleeves were frayed, two buttons were missing, and the original hue of
the cloth was indeterminable.

At half-past nine he set out and struggled with his shabby umbrella
against wind and rain. Down Pentonville Hill, up Euston Road, all
along Marylebone Road, then north-westwards towards the point of his
destination. It was a good six miles from the one house to the other,
but he arrived before the appointed time, and had to stray about until
the cessation of bell-clanging and the striking of clocks told him it
was eleven. Then he presented himself at the familiar door.

On his asking for Mrs Reardon, he was at once admitted and led up to the
drawing-room; the servant did not ask his name.

Then he waited for a minute or two, feeling himsel