He saw an analogy between himself and the crazy inventor, and he
asked himself if he would go on re-writing _The Gipsy_ until he went out of
his mind. 'Even if I do,' he thought, 'I can hurt no one but myself. No one
else is dependent on me; my hobby can hurt no one but myself.' These
forebodings passed away, and his mind filled up with schemes of work. He
knew exactly what he wanted to do, and he looked forward to doing it. He
wanted quiet, he wanted long days alone with himself. Such were his
thoughts in the dog-cart as he drove home, and it was therefore vaguely
unpleasant to him to meet the two ladies waiting for him at the lodge gate.
Their smiles of welcome irritated him; he longed for the solitude of his
study, the companionship of his work; and instead he had to sit with them
in the drawing-room, and tell them how he liked London, what he had done
there, whom he had seen there, and why he had been unable to finish his
play to his satisfaction.
In the morning Emily or Mrs. Bentley was generally about to pour out his
coffee for him and keep him company. One day Hubert noticed that it was no
longer Mrs. Bentley but Emily who met him in the passage, and followed him
into the dining-room.
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