There, having learned that she was not dangerously hurt, and would probably have recovered sufficiently to give account of herself in an hour’s time, he left money to pay for conveyances or telegrams, and took himself off, a nameless benefactor, whose identity Miss Isabel Sparling might either nose out or ignore according to taste, but could not do otherwise than suspect. And so, if there was one spot in his kaleidoscopic world where Mr. Trimblerigg, in retrospect, had not hitherto felt quite happy, he was able to feel happy now. His embrace of Isabel Sparling’s inanimate form, the first time for more than fifteen years--had given him the sudden inspiration that now, in his own time and in his own way, he should take up and fulfil the rash promise of his early youth, and be voice and champion of the ministerial call to women. For now at last he had the standing and a following whereof he was the accepted leader, which would make the achievement no longer theirs but his, and give credit where the credit was due. Through him, almost through him alone, the chains of the Puto-Congo natives were already being struck off; following upon that, through him, the chains of sex-disability should go likewise. There was no time like the present. He would take a brief holiday, and then he would begin. He dined at an old-fashioned restaurant in the city, which had its traditions; the head waiter, with recognition in his eye, but not a word said, installed him in the seat of honour, the seat once habitually occupied by one of the great eighteenth-century emancipators of the human brain. The attention pleased him, still more the respectful silence with which it was done--the acceptance of his right to be there incognito without remark. He ate well of a wonderful pie containing oysters, and he drank white wine, followed by Stilton cheese, port, and a cigar. To all these good things life had gently led him away from the early training of his childhood. He accepted them now without scruple and felt the better for them. When he got home, the elderly domestic, now in sole charge of the house since the family’s departure, had gone up to bed. About half an hour later, Mr. Trimblerigg, comfortably sleepy, went up to his own. From habit, because he usually needed it, he took a bed-side book and began briefly to read; five minutes generally sufficed; it did so now.