He
tried to hold himself a little more upright.
"You will be sorry for this, Ellen," he said, with some attempt at
dignity.
She laughed scornfully.
"One isn't sorry at getting rid of such as you," she answered, and
slammed the door behind him.
Burton walked with hesitating footsteps down the footpath. This was not
in the least the triumphal return he had intended to make! He stood for
a moment upon the pavement, considering. It was curious, but his
motor-car no longer seemed to him a glorious vehicle. He was distinctly
dissatisfied with the cut of his clothes, the glossiness of his silk
hat, his general appearance. The thought of his bank balance failed to
bring him any satisfaction whatever. He seemed suddenly, as clearly as
though he were looking into a mirror, to see himself with eyes. He
recognized even the blatant stupidity of his return, and he admired
Ellen more than he had ever admired her in his life.
"Where to, sir?" his brand-new chauffeur asked.
Burton pitched away his cigar.
"Wait a moment," he said, and turning round, walked with firm footsteps
back to the house. He tried the door and opened it, looked into the
parlor and found it empty. He walked down the passage and pushed open
the door of the kitchen.
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