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But Peter showed no emotion. "Very well, father What day do I go?" "Monday nine o'clock." Nothing more was said. At any rate Aitchinson and his red tape and his moral dust would fill the day no time then to dwell on these dark passages and Mrs. Trussit's frightened eyes and the startled jump of the marble clock in the dining-room just before it struck the hour.... And so for weeks it proved.
Trussit's nose is early in the morning," "I wonder what old Parlow's doing." It was terrible. He was in his carriage they were hurrying, every one was hurrying. His father suddenly spoke. "The guard will see to you. You change at Exeter. Your aunt has given you sandwiches." A little pause, and then: "You've got pluck. You stood that beating well."
Trussit's slippers as she came to open the door for him then Mrs. Trussit's fat arm and the candle raised above her head, and "Oh, it's you, Mr. Peter," and then the opening of the dining-room door and "It's Master Peter, sir," and then that vision of the marble clock and his father's face behind the paper. These things were unfair and more than any one deserved.
Trussit's steps down the passage, then locks were turned, the great door swung slowly open, and he saw her, as he had pictured it, with a candle in her hand raised above her head, peering into the dark. "Oh! it's you, Master Peter," and she stood aside, without another word, to let him in.
The sight of it roused no emotion in Peter that was not his mother. The two aunts, Uncle Jeremy and his father rode in the first carriage; Peter and Mrs. Trussit in the second. Mrs. Trussit's bonnet and black silk dress were very fine and she wept bitterly throughout the journey. Peter only dismally wished that he could arrange his knees so that they would not rub against her black silk.
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