CHAPTER IV.
It was past four o'clock before I left the house, together with Mills.
Mr.Blunt, still in his riding costume, escorted us to the very door.

He asked us to send him the first fiacre we met on our way to town.

"It's impossible to walk in this get-up through the streets," he remarked, with his brilliant smile.
At this point I propose to transcribe some notes I made at the time in little black books which I have hunted up in the litter of the past; very cheap, common little note-books that by the lapse of years have acquired a touching dimness of aspect, the frayed, worn-out dignity of documents.
Expression on paper has never been my forte.

My life had been a thing of outward manifestations.

I never had been secret or even systematically taciturn about my simple occupations which might have been foolish but had never required either caution or mystery.