His heart still ached,
but he felt equal to going to London and seeing his father, which, of
course, he ought to have done immediately upon his arrival in England.
He rose from his bench, and, going back to the hotel to enquire about
trains, observed a familiar figure in the lobby. Eustace Hignett was
leaning over the counter, in conversation with the desk-clerk.
"Hullo, Eustace!" said Sam.
"Hullo, Sam!" said Eustace.
There was a brief silence. The conversational opening had been a little
unfortunately chosen, for it reminded both men of a painful episode in
their recent lives.
"What are you doing here?" asked Eustace.
"What are _you_ doing here?" asked Sam.
"I came to see you," said Eustace, leading his cousin out of the lobby
and onto the bleak esplanade. A fine rain had begun to fall, and
Bingley looked, if possible, worse than ever. "I asked for you at your
club, and they told me you had come down here."
"What did you want to see me about?"
"The fact is, old man, I'm in a bit of a hole.
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