Never Jenny's name! He was going to look on Isabel again--that was all.

Perhaps he would die with the mere joy of seeing her again--and then he would not need to think of the future.

Yes! the deeps of his soul had wanted her as much as that.
It was about half-past six as he reached London; and though it was impossible to call on her for some hours yet, Theophil drove straight to Isabel's little square, shuttered and still in the early-risen London morning.

His eyes chose the second storey for hers, and picked out two dainty windows as her rooms.

He half expected to see the blind suddenly drawn aside and her face, a sleepy flower, bloom through the curtains.
He lingered awhile, loving each individual brick of the house with his eyes, and then, kissing his hands to the sleeping windows, he rejoined his cab, which he had left at the street corner, shy of awaking the hushed square with its clatter.
He gave Isabel till ten o'clock, which was perhaps hardly enough for a young London lady's toilette and breakfast, and then called.