He said with considerable animation: "But--damn it!--I don't _want_ to
get married yet! I don't see what I've done...."
Throwing back his shoulders and lifting a defiant chin, he announced
with invincible determination: "I won't go. That's all there is about
it. I will--not--go!...
"Besides," he argued plaintively, "I couldn't travel like this--clothes
all out of shape from that drenching last night--no time to change--!"
Consultation of his watch gave flat contradiction to this assertion.
"And besides, I'm just getting this thing started nicely!" This with
reference to the play.
With another groan even more soulful than the first he sat down at the
table, seized the telephone in a savage grasp, and in prematurely
embittered accents detailed a suburban number to the inoffensive central
operator. In the inevitable three minutes' wait for the connection to be
put through he found ample opportunity to lash himself to a frenzy of
exasperation.
"Hello!" he roared suddenly. "Hel-lo, I say!... Who is this?... Oh, you,
eh, Swinton? This is Mr. Matthias.... No--I say, no! Don't call Mrs.
Tankerville. Haven't time.... Just tell her I'm coming down on the
six-thirty.... Yes.... And send something to meet me at the station....
Yes. Good-bye."