Buttheydidnotgototheoperaafterall，foringettingupfromdinnerthedizzinesscameoverhimagain，andsheinsistedonhisstayingquietandgoingtobedearly。Whenhepartedfromheratthedoorofthehotel，havingpaidthecabmantodrivehertoChelsea，hesatdownagainforamomenttoenjoythememoryofherwords：”Youaresuchadarlingtome，UncleJolyon！”Why！Whowouldn’tbe！HewouldhavelikedtostayupanotherdayandtakehertotheZoo，buttwodaysrunningofhimwouldborehertodeath。No，hemustwaittillnextSunday；shehadpromisedtocomethen。TheywouldsettlethoselessonsforHolly，ifonlyforamonth。Itwouldbesomething。ThatlittleMam’zelleBeaucewouldn’tlikeit，butshewouldhavetolumpit。Andcrushinghisoldoperahatagainsthischesthesoughtthelift。
HedrovetoWaterloonextmorning，strugglingwithadesiretosay：
’DrivemetoChelsea。’Buthissenseofproportionwastoostrong。
Besides，hestillfeltshaky，anddidnotwanttoriskanotheraberrationlikethatoflastnight，awayfromhome。Holly，too，wasexpectinghim，andwhathehadinhisbagforher。Notthattherewasanycupboardloveinhislittlesweet——shewasabundleofaffection。Then，withtheratherbittercynicismoftheold，hewonderedforasecondwhetheritwasnotcupboardlovewhichmadeIreneputupwithhim。No，shewasnotthatsorteither。Shehad，ifanything，toolittlenotionofhowtobutterherbread，nosenseofproperty，poorthing！Besides，hehadnotbreathedawordaboutthatcodicil，norshouldhe——sufficientuntothedaywasthegoodthereof。
InthevictoriawhichmethimatthestationHollywasrestrainingthedogBalthasar，andtheircaressesmade’jubey’hisdrivehome。