I went out. If, as soon as I got into the passage, I could have transported Mr. Fairlie and Sir Percival Glyde to the uttermost ends of the earth by lifting one of my fingers, that finger would have been raised without an instant’s hesitation. For once my unhappy temper now stood my friend. I should have broken down altogether and burst into a violent fit of crying, if my tears had not been all burnt up in the heat of my anger. As it was, I dashed into Mr. Fairlie’s room⁠—called to him as harshly as possible, “Laura consents to the twenty-second”⁠—and dashed out again without waiting for a word of answer. I banged the door after me, and I hope I shattered Mr. Fairlie’s nervous system for the rest of the day.