The order was promptly obeyed, and the horses proceeded at a furious pace along the Edgeware Road. His gaze remained steady on the old dame’s face, as he thought about it. My death, probably. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year.
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