Mrs.Wilcox came and found him doing it.
"I'm not going," he said in answer to her indignant stare.
"I'm glad to hear it.

Because if you _do_ go--" "I am not going." But Mrs.Wilcox's maternal instinct had subdued her fear of Nevill Tyson, and he respected her defiance even more than he had respected her fear.
"If you go you'll put her in a fever, and _I_ won't answer for the consequences." He said nothing, for he had a sense of justice, and it was her hour.
Besides, he was no little conscience-stricken.
He went out to look for Stanistreet, and found him in the courtyard, piling his own luggage on the dog-cart.

He put his hand on his shoulder.
"Look here," said he, "I can't go.

It's a damned nuisance, but it's out of the question.

Leave those things till to-morrow." "To-morrow ?" Stanistreet stared vaguely at his host.
"Yes; you must see me through this, Stanny.