My wallet - or my knapsack - is packed, and ready for strapping on;
and here is my staff!'
He hands it to her; she makes the same remark as Mr. Crisparkle,
that it is very heavy; and gives it back to him, asking what wood
it is? Iron-wood.
Up to this point he has been extremely cheerful. Perhaps, the
having to carry his case with her, and therefore to present it in
its brightest aspect, has roused his spirits. Perhaps, the having
done so with success, is followed by a revulsion. As the day
closes in, and the city-lights begin to spring up before them, he
grows depressed.
'I wish I were not going to this dinner, Helena.'
'Dear Neville, is it worth while to care much about it? Think how
soon it will be over.'
'How soon it will be over!' he repeats gloomily. 'Yes. But I
don't like it.'
There may be a moment's awkwardness, she cheeringly represents to
him, but it can only last a moment. He is quite sure of himself.
'I wish I felt as sure of everything else, as I feel of myself,' he
answers her.
'How strangely you speak, dear! What do you mean?'
'Helena, I don't know. I only know that I don't like it. What a
strange dead weight there is in the air!'
She calls his attention to those copperous clouds beyond the river,
and says that the wind is rising. He scarcely speaks again, until
he takes leave of her, at the gate of the Nuns' House. She does
not immediately enter, when they have parted, but remains looking
after him along the street.
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