He
put an end to the incident, and led off into talk of quite a
different kind. When supper-time was at hand he declared that it was
impossible for him to stay. The hour had been anything but a lively
one, and when he was gone his friends discussed at length this novel
display of ill-humour on Sidney's part.
He went home muttering to himself, and passed as bad a night as he
had ever known. Two days later his removal to new lodgings was
effected; notwithstanding his desire to get into a cleaner region,
he had taken a room at the top of a house in Red Lion Street, in the
densest part of Clerkenwell, where his neighbours under the same
roof were craftsmen, carrying on their business at home.
'It'll do well enough just for a time,' he said to himself. 'Who can
say when I shall be really settled again, or whether I ever shall?'
Midway in an attempt to put his things in order, to nail his
pictures on the walls and ring forth his books again, he was seized
with such utter discouragement that he let a volume drop from his
hand and threw himself into a seat. A moan escaped his lips--'That
cursed money!'
Ever since the disclosure made to him by Michael Snowdon at Danbury
he had been sensible of a grave uneasiness respecting his relations
with Jane.
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