The man was a bore, you know."
Chevenix screwed up one leg. "All men are, if they're sweet on your
sweetheart, I suppose. He was worth fifty of you, all the same--but go
on."
Ingram laughed. "I set my wits against his," he said, "and found out that
he'd come straight from seeing her--in London. That was good enough for
me. I got rid of Master Senhouse, and went off to town. He had no promises
out of _me_, you may believe."
Chevenix felt very sick, and looked it. "The less you say about your
promises, my good chap, the better I'll take it." But Ingram by now had
got back to his holier reminiscences:--
"I hunted for her high and low for three months--advertised, turned on
detectives, I had even dared her friends' eyes and their cold shoulders--
couldn't hear anything ... I was walking in hell for three months....
"Then, one day, I met her--in Chancery Lane. Of all squalid places on
earth--there...."
"I'd been to my lawyer's, in Lincoln's Inn. I'd settled money on her--in
case anything happened to me while I was abroad. I was going to travel,
because I'd given it up. And then I met her. Chancery Lane!
"I was passing some school or another--Commercial Academy--book-keeping,
shorthand, typewriting--that sort of place; a lot of ogling, giggling
girls, and boys after 'em, came tumbling down the steps--all sun-bonnets
and fluffy hair; and down the steps she came, too--Sanchia came--like a
princess.
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