Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. He loves the Mendelians because he hates all the big names of the eighties and nineties. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him.
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