So long as she did remember and did mind he could only circle about and go and come, doing futile things of which he was ashamed.

He was ashamed of his two words to Dr.Buzzard; he went out of the shop as soon as he had crumpled up the paper again and thrust it into his pocket.

It had been an abject little exposure of dreadful impossible passion.

He appeared in fact to be too ashamed to come back.
He had once more left town, and a first week elapsed, and a second.

He had had naturally to return to the real mistress of his fate; she had insisted--she knew how to insist, and he couldn't put in another hour.
There was always a day when she called time.