He was in a panic.

He was in a haste to go.
Money--yes.

But you must live in order to enjoy it.
"I will give you a day to think over my proposal," he said, stammering the words in his haste.

And then, "Don't write to me! I will find a means," and, almost before she was aware of his movements, he had snatched up his cap, and the room was empty.

The curtain was torn aside; the glass door stood open; beyond it the garden lay white in the light of the moon.
"A trap ?" Joan repeated his accusation in a perplexity.