But Dyce stood rigid, an unnatural smile on his features; then he drew back, turned, and was lost to view.
Five minutes later, he quitted the house.

It was raining lightly.
Whilst he looked upward to give the cabman his address, drops fell upon his face, and he found their coolness pleasant.
During the ride home, he indulged a limitless wrath against Iris Woolstan.

That busybody had spoilt his evening, had thrown disturbance into his mind just when it was enjoying the cheeriest hopes.

As likely as not she would learn that he had had a long talk with May Tomalin, and, seeing the girl, she would put her own interpretation on the fib he had told her.

What a nuisance it was to have to do with these feminine creatures, all fuss and impulsiveness and sentimentality! It would not surprise him in the least if she made a scene about this evening.