Explore "Married or Single? , Volume II" by B. M. Croker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Laurence Wynne stood upon the platform and watched the Irish mail -- "The Wild Irishman" -- wind its great long body slowly out of the station -- watched till the red light, like a fiery eye, became smaller and smaller, and disappeared from view. Then he hurried off to Waterloo to catch his own train -- which he missed -- and, going by the next, walked from Guildford, a distance of twelve miles, arriving home at one o'clock in the morning, to the intense relief of Mrs. Holt, who had been sitting up for him in a nightcap of portentous dimensions, and who, seeing that he looked tired and dusty, and what she mentally termed "down," was disposed to be a very mother to him, even to setting a cold supper before him at that unparalleled and improper hour, and staying him with a flagon of her own home-brewed ale -- a sure token of favour.
"And so she's gone! " she exclaimed at last, when she could absolutely contain herself no longer. "Actually gone to Ireland."