London (England) -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
Sally’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the slippers. She rose at once,
and limped away to her room. Amelius, observing that she still walked in
pain, called her back. “I had forgotten the blister,” he said. “Before
you put on the new stockings, Sally, let me see your foot.” He turned
to Toff. “You’re always ready with everything,” he went on; “I wonder
whether you have got a needle and a bit of worsted thread?”
The old Frenchman answered, with an air of respectful reproach. “Knowing
me, sir, as you do,” he said, “could you doubt for a moment that I mend
my own clothes and darn my own stockings?” He withdrew to his bedroom
below, and returned with a leather roll. “When you are ready, sir?” he
said, opening the roll at the table, and threading the needle, while
Sally removed the sock from her left foot.
She took a chair near the window, at the suggestion of Amelius. He knelt
down so as to raise her foot to his knee. “Turn a little more towards
the light,” he said. He took the foot in his hand, lifted it, looked at
it--and suddenly let it drop back on the floor.
A cry of alarm from Sally instantly brought Toff to the window. “Oh,
look!” she cried; “he’s ill!” Toff lifted Amelius to a chair. “For God’s
sake, sir,” cried the terrified old man, “what’s the matter?” Amelius
had turned to the strange ashy paleness which is only seen in men of his
florid complexion, overwhelmed by sudden emotion. He stammered when
he tried to speak. “Fetch the brandy!” said Toff, pointing to the
liqueur-case on the sideboard. Sally brought it at once; the strong
stimulant steadied Amelius.
“I’m sorry to have frightened you,” he said faintly. “Sally!--Dear, dear
little Sally, go in, and get your things on directly. You must come out
with me; I’ll tell you why afterwards. My God! why didn’t I find this
out before?” He noticed Toff, wondering and trembling. “Good old fellow!
don’t alarm yourself--you shall know about it, too. Go! run! get the
first cab you can find!”
Left alone for a few minutes, he had time to compose himself. He did his
best to take advantage of the time; he tried to prepare his mind for the
coming interview with Mrs. Farnaby. “I must be careful of what I do,”
he thought, conscious of the overwhelming effect of the discovery on
himself; “She doesn’t expect _me_ to bring her daughter to her.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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