Such as it is, Mountjoy sighed for it bitterly,--sighed for it, but could
not see where it was to be found. He had a gentleman's horror of those
resorts in gin-shops, or kept by the disciples of gin-shops, where he
would surely be robbed,--which did not appal him,--but robbed in bad
company. Thinking of all this, he went up to London late in the
afternoon, and spent an uncomfortable evening in town. It was absolutely
innocent as regarded the doings of the night itself, but was terrible to
him. There was a slow drizzling rain; but not the less after dinner at
his hotel he started off to wander through the streets. With his
great-coat and his umbrella he was almost hidden; and as he passed
through Pall Mall, up St. James's Street, and along Piccadilly, he could
pause and look in at the accustomed door. He saw men entering whom he
knew, and knew that within five minutes they could be seated at their
tables. "I had an awfully heavy time of it last night," one said to
another as he went up the steps; and Mountjoy, as he heard the words,
envied the speaker. Then he passed back and went again a tour of all the
clubs. What had he done that he, like a poor Peri, should be unable to
enter the gates of all these paradises? He had now in his pocket fifty
pounds.
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