'If I do not hear from you, I am staying at the Mitre Inn.

Mr.Thomasson, I bid you good-night.

My lord, your servant.' And with that, and though Mr.Thomasson, wringing his hands over what had occurred and the injury to himself that might come of it, attempted some feeble remonstrances, Sir George bowed sternly, took his hat and went down.

He found his chair at the foot of the stairs, but in consideration of the crowd he would not use it.

The college porters, indeed, pressed him to wait, and demurred to opening even the wicket.
But he had carried forbearance to the verge, and dreaded the least appearance of timidity; and, insisting, got his way.