He had been influenced also by the wish for
surroundings more adapted to his tastes. He wanted to be able to give
little teas, to which Miss Talcott might come with a married friend. She
came once or twice and pronounced it all delightful: she thought it _so_
nice to have only a few Whistler etchings on the walls and the simplest
crushed levant for all one's books.
To these rooms Woburn returned on leaving the bank. His plans had taken
definite shape. He had engaged passage on a steamer sailing for Halifax
early the next morning; and there was nothing for him to do before going
on board but to pack his clothes and tear up a few letters. He threw his
clothes into a couple of portmanteaux, and when these had been called for
by an expressman he emptied his pockets and counted up his ready money. He
found that he possessed just fifty dollars and seventy-five cents; but his
passage to Halifax was paid, and once there he could pawn his watch and
rings. This calculation completed, he unlocked his writing-table drawer
and took out a handful of letters. They were notes from Miss Talcott. He
read them over and threw them into the fire. On his table stood her
photograph. He slipped it out of its frame and tossed it on top of the
blazing letters. Having performed this rite, he got into his dress-clothes
and went to a small French restaurant to dine.
He had meant to go on board the steamer immediately after dinner; but a
sudden vision of introspective hours in a silent cabin made him call for
the evening paper and run his eye over the list of theatres.
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