But though the paper was before
him, and the pen in his hand, the letter did not, would not, get
itself written. With what words was he to begin it? To whom should it
be written? How was he to declare himself the villain which he had
made himself? The letters from his office were taken away every night
shortly after six, and at six o'clock he had not written a word. "I
will do it at home to-night," he said, to himself, and then, tearing
off a scrap of paper, he scratched those few lines which Lily
received, and which she had declined to communicate to her mother or
sister. Crosbie, as he wrote them, conceived that they would in some
way prepare the poor girl for the coming blow,--that they would, at
any rate, make her know that all was not right; but in so supposing
he had not counted on the constancy of her nature, nor had he thought
of the promise which she had given him that nothing should make her
doubt him. He wrote the scrap, and then taking his hat walked off
through the gloom of the November evening up Charing Cross and St.
Martin's Lane, towards the Seven Dials and Bloomsbury into regions
of the town with which he had no business, and which he never
frequented.
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