And now, in
consequence of this, misery had fallen upon himself. Even this
empty-headed fellow Baskerville, a man the poverty of whose character
Harry perfectly understood, had questioned him about Mountjoy
Scarborough. It could not, he thought, be possible that Baskerville
could have had any reasons for suspicion, and yet the very sound of the
inquiry stuck in his ears.
On the next morning, at eleven o'clock, he knocked at Mrs. Mountjoy's
house in Mountpellier Place and asked for the elder lady. Mrs. Mountjoy
was out, and Harry at once inquired for Florence. The servant at first
seemed to hesitate, but at last showed Harry into the dining-room. There
he waited five minutes, which seemed to him to be half an hour, and then
Florence came to him. "Your mother is not at home," he said, putting out
his hand.
"No, Mr. Annesley, but I think she will be back soon. Will you wait for
her?"
"I do not know whether I am not glad that she should be out. Florence, I
have something that I must tell you."
"Something that you must tell me!"
He had called her Florence once before, on a happy afternoon which he
well remembered, but he was not thinking of that now. Her name, which
was always in his mind, had come to him naturally, as though he had no
time to pick and choose about names in the importance of the
communication which he had to make.
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