Till four o'clock Bertie sat patiently waiting for an answer to his note, then the _commissionaire_ came and told him that there was no chance of the gentleman he wanted being there that day; so he went back to Mincing Lane, only to find the office shut up, and then, for the first time, he glanced at a clock, and saw that it was a quarter after four. He had no very definite idea of how the time had gone, but the one uppermost idea still in his mind was to get to Aunt Amy, and tell her all his troubles, and ask her if she thought he had been so very much to blame.
[Illustration: "BERTIE WAS IN HER ARMS IN A MOMENT" (_p. 288_).]
At length Bertie started to walk home; he had no ticket, for he had gone to the office with his uncle before his holiday; and he had no money: his last penny had been spent at Brighton, and Mr. Gregory had not remembered to give him his usual weekly allowance; but there was the savings' bank: he could get some of his own money and go to see Aunt Amy at once. But the "book" was at Kensington, he remembered, and he called to mind, too, that the people at the Post Office wanted notice before paying any deposits, so that would not do. In his sore trouble and impatience he wanted to rush off to the station that moment, and even an express train would be far too slow for his wishes. As he walked towards Kensington he kept thinking all the time how he was to get the money. Whom could he ask to help him? But he did not ask any one, and at last, weary with his walk and his troubled thoughts, hot and dusty, he turned into the Park, and threw himself on the grass in the quietest spot he could find. He was close to Kensington Gardens, and a few minutes would bring him home; but Bertie felt as if he must have a rest before the duties of the evening commenced. For the first time in his life his work seemed distasteful to him, and the idea of being shut up alone with his uncle in the library after what had taken place was almost unbearable. If he only could get away to Aunt Amy and tell her all, it would be such a comfort. Once he pulled out his watch, and for a moment thought of selling it, then with a start he remembered that it was his dear father's last present. Above all things, he could not part with that. It really seemed as if there were no resource but to wait till he got his money from the savings' bank, and by that time Aunt Amy would be just about returning to Fitzroy Square.