To describe the astonishment of Verty, as he hastily went out and
closed the door, would be impossible. His face passed from red to
pale, his eyes were full of bewilderment--he sat down, scarcely
knowing what he did,
Roundjacket sat writing at his desk, and either had not heard, or
pretended that he had not, any portion of the passionate colloquy.
Verty could do nothing all day, for thinking of the astonishing scene
he had passed through. Why should there be anything offensive in
raising the curtain of a portrait? Why should so good a man as Mr.
Rushton, address such insulting and harsh words to him for such a
trifling thing? How was it possible that the simple words, 'Trust in
God,' had been the occasion of such anger, nay, almost fury?
The longer Verty pondered, the less he understood; or at least he
understood no better than before, which amounted precisely to no
understanding at all.
He got through his day after a very poor fashion; and, going along
under the evening skies, cudgelled his brains, for the thousandth
time, for some explanation of this extraordinary circumstance.
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