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The more he reflected on Emmy's letter and on Wiggleswick's views on women the less did he agree with Wiggleswick.
Sypher could not speak lest he should betray his knowledge of Septimus's secret, and Septimus could only murmur incoherent ineffectualities concerning the perfection of Emmy, the worthlessness of himself, and the diamond soul that lodged in Wiggleswick's forbidding body. Zora would not listen to unreason.
"I'll be in good time for the four o'clock," said Septimus. "This is the way I generally travel. I told you." He rose, swayed a bit, and put his hand on the table to steady himself. "I'll go and wait at the station. Then I'll be sure to catch it. You see I must go." "But why?" cried Zora. "Wiggleswick's letter. The house has been burnt down and everything in it.
The house, cleaned and polished, glittered like the instrument room of a man-of-war, and no master or mistress came to bestow on Wiggleswick's toil the meed of their approbation. The old man settled down again to well-earned repose, and the house grew dusty and dingy again, and dustier and dingier as the weeks went on.
"But you brought everything, sir, in this luggage?" "I suppose so. Wiggleswick packed. It's his professional training, Turner. I think they call it 'stowing the swag." As Turner had not heard of Wiggleswick's profession, she did not catch the allusion. Nor did Zora enlighten her when she reported the conversation. "If they went in once they'll go in again," said Turner. "They won't.
Having no reason to disbelieve Wiggleswick's circumstantial though entirely fictitious story, and having by the smile put herself at a disadvantage, she felt uncomfortably routed. "Your master never told you where he was going or how long he was likely to be away?" she asked. "My master, ma'am," replied Wiggleswick, "never knows where he is going. That's why he wants a wife who can tell him."
Don't you think we get on better, the two of us, as we are?" "We get on very nicely," said Septimus politely, "but I'm afraid you'll have to do some cleaning and dusting to-day. I'm awfully sorry to trouble you. Mrs. Middlemist has returned to England, and may be down this afternoon." A look of dismay came over Wiggleswick's crafty, weather-beaten face. "Well, I'm jiggered.
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