"We can do without you here.
Gedge, my man, put those cases beside you back into the rack, and go and tell the porter he's wanted." The mention of Gedge's name cowed Reginald in an instant, and in the sudden revulsion of feeling which ensued he was glad enough to escape from the room before fairly breaking down under a crushing sense of injury, mortification, and helplessness.

Gedge was at the door as he went out.
"Oh, Cruden," he whispered, "what will become of me now?
Wait for me outside at seven o'clock; please do." That afternoon Reginald paced the streets more like a hunted beast than a human being.

All the bad side of his nature--his pride, his conceit, his selfishness--was stirred within him under a bitter sense of shame and indignity.

He forgot how much his own intractable temper and stupid self-importance had contributed to his fall, and could think of nothing but Durfy's triumph and the evil fate which at the very moment, when he was able to snap his fingers in the tyrant's face, had driven him forth in disgrace with the tyrant's fingers snapped in his face.

He had not spirit or resolution enough to wait to see Gedge or any one that evening, but slunk away, hating the sight of everybody, and wishing only he could lose himself and forget that such a wretch as Reginald Cruden existed.
Ah! Reginald.