Triple idiot! Bread turned to bran upon his hot palate; he could only swallow cups of coffee.

With trembling hands he finished the packing of his box and portmanteau, then braced himself to the dreaded interview.

Of course, it involved no difficulty, the words once uttered; but, when he was left alone again, he paced the room for a few minutes in flush of mortification.

It had made his headache worse.
The mode of his homeward journey he had easily arranged.

His baggage having been labelled for Twybridge, he himself would book as far as his money allowed, then proceed on foot for the remaining distance.