The night had passed in this communion, and another day come.
There were many "last things" which claimed Surrey's attention; and he, wishing to get through them early so as to have the afternoon and evening undisturbed with Francesca, plunged into a stinging bath to refresh him for the day, breakfasted, and was gone.
He attended to his business, came across many an old acquaintance and friend, some of whom greeted him coldly; a few cut him dead; whilst others put out their hands with cordial frankness, and one or two congratulated him heartily upon his new condition and happiness.

These last gave him fresh courage for the task which he had set himself.

If friends regarded the matter thus, surely they--his father and mother--would relent, when he came to say what might be a final adieu.
He ran up the steps, rang the bell, and, speaking a pleasant word to the old servant, went directly to his mother's room.

His father had not yet gone down town; thus he found them together.

They started at seeing him, and his mother, forgetting for the instant all her pride, chagrin, and anger, had her arms about his neck, with the cry, "O Willie, Willie," which came from the depths of her heart; then seeing her husband's face, and recovering herself, sat down cold and still.
It was a painful interview.