THE Sorrells marched out of Staunton with drums beating and colours flying, and the little old port manteau newly bestrapped trundling to the station in a handbarrow.
The Angel had cast them out, for Sorrell had walked into the lion's cage, and given notice.
"I have obtained another situation, madam."
She had stared at him fixedly.
"O, have you! Very well."
"I shall be able to carry on for you until"
"There is a gap, is there? No,—I don't do things that way. Out you go,—to-night."
She had called him a fool, and he had left her without asking for his money, a piece of fastidiousness which he did not regret. He had packed his belongings, and gone out by the back way, and so to Fletcher's Lane where Mrs. Barter had given him some supper, and he had slept in Kit's bed. In the morning Mr. Roland appeared at the door of No. 13 Fletcher's Lane.
"You left rather suddenly"
"Well,—I thought it only fair, sir, to tell Mrs. Palfrey. She turned me out."
"What are you going to?"
"I thought of going to Winstonbury, sir,—and of putting up there till you take over."
"Can you manage?"
"Veg."
Roland did not offer help, and Sorrell did not hint at the fact that he needed it. Yet both men were satisfied, for neither of them desired to cadge or to be cadged from. The relationship between them began on a plane that was above the baser level of employer and employed. The relationship had elements of sensitiveness, delicacy.
