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.