John Egerton prepared himself to go round. He cursed himself for a weak fool; he reviled his fate, and Emily and Stephen Byrne. But he prepared himself. He was beaten.
But as he opened the front door the bell rang, and he saw Stephen himself on the doorstep—a pale and haggard Stephen, blinking weakly at the sudden blaze of light in the hall.
“I came round after all,” he said. “It’s urgent!” But he stepped in doubtfully.
The two curses of John Egerton’s composition were his shyness and his softheartedness. When he saw Stephen he tried to look implacable; he tried to feel as angry as he had felt a moment before. But that weary and anxious face, that moment’s hesitation on the step, and the whole shamefaced aspect of his friend melted him in a moment.
Something terrible must be going on to make the vital, confident Stephen Byrne look like that. Once more, he must be helped.