Her Faithful Knight — page 342: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

338 And Last. licly branded as cowardly and contemptible that very day, and on leaving the police court he had been soundly hissed and hooted by an ignorant and depraved crowd, who had actually broken the windows of his hansom by the stones and lumps of mud that they hurled at him. It was enough, Darcy felt, to make a man kick the dust of Eng- land off his boots and journey to the Great Sahara, but that ten thousand a year and a beautiful wife who hates you are powerful attractions to keep a man in any coun- try, however undeserving. He had become so much interested in his letter that for the time he had forgotten his expected guest, so that when, soon after half-past nine, the bell of his flat was rung, he started and was almost annoyed by the interruption to his flow of composition. Soon a smile of satisfied vanity crossed his features. He rose, and, going to the looking-glass over the dressing- table in the adjoining bedroom, he smoothed his hair and silky, slight mustache, rearranged his cravat, squirted some scent about his face and the front of his coat, shot out his cuffs, and, thus prepared for conquest, proceeded to the entrance door of the tiny hall upon which his rooms opened, and unfastened the latch. | But at this point a disappointment awaited him. In- stead of the person he expected a man stood there—a broad-shouldered, deep-chested young man of medium height and dark, saturnine face, who, as soon as the door was opened, thrust his foot into the aperture and kept it there. He was too well dressed to be a dun, so, mentally cursing him, Darcy inquired his business. “My business is with you, Mr. Darcy Derrick.” There was a note of dogged determination about the young man’s voice, and Darcy, without knowing why, felt apprehensive. CoOMmicoookks ©