Good night."
And Mr. Parish was alone on the pavement. So grievously did he feel
for the loss of that half-sovereign that for some moments he could
think of nothing else. His heart burned against Polly. What had she
got to do with those people in the big house? How could he be sure
that it did not imply some shameful secret? And he must go throwing
away his hard-earned money! Gladly he would have spent it on a
supper for Polly; but to pay ten shillings for a half-crown drive! A
whole blessed half-sovereign!
Another carriage drove up and stopped at the next house. Christopher
remembered that he must discover the address, an easy matter enough.
He found that the square was called Stanhope Gardens; he noted the
number of the house with flowers. Then, weary, disgusted, he started
on his eastward walk. Omnibuses, of course, there were none. The
chance of a train at some underground station seemed too doubtful to
think about; in any case he had no more money to waste.
On he plodded, heavily, angrily--Cromwell Road, Brompton Road, at
last Piccadilly, and so into familiar districts, though he had never
walked here so late at night.
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