The boy went away furiously angry with Denis, but in the months to come he recognised that he had heard Sylvia Custance accurately analysed during that unpleasant half-hour's walk with Denis Quirk.
Denis watched the boy as he strode away towards his home, his figure stiffly borne, the picture of indignant protest. For his own part, Denis desired no further acquaintance with Sylvia Custance. He despised her so much that the very thought of her was repulsive to his nature. After that one visit he preferred to cultivate old Jackson in his office in the city.
Occasionally he made a flying visit to Grey Town to enjoy the restfulness of "Layton," but he did not stay long even there. After a week or ten days he would suddenly pack his Gladstone bag and return in haste to Melbourne. His answer to his mother was always the same, when she pleaded with him to stay a few days longer:
"I must get back to work. There is nothing else worth living for."
Denis Quirk was busy in his office, writing, revising, correcting proofs, reading a celebrated work for review, criticising illustrations, doing many things and several men's work at the one time. He had a sub-editor, a very capable journalist, but he had the feeling, like other great men, that no one could do his work but he, and in this he was partly right. The telephone rang while he was thus engaged, and he sprang up and seized the receiver. Grey Town was speaking.
"Yes, Grey Town speaking. It is Kathleen O'Connor. Can you hear me?"
"Mrs. Quirk is seriously ill. She wants you."
"I will be with you in seven hours. Will she last till then?"
"Dr. Marsh thinks so; but please waste no time. Good-bye."
He rang his bell, and the office messenger answered it with promptitude. He had learned the lesson of haste when the master's bell rang.
"Send Mr. Gillon to me, and order a motor to take me to Grey Town at once. Ring up my flat, and ask my man to pack my valise," cried Denis. "Tell the motor to call for it," he added.
To the sub-editor he confided the work that still remained to be done.
"I will take this with me," he said, picking up an important article, "and read it on the journey. I will send it back in the motor."
A quarter of an hour later he was being carried at full speed in a twenty-horse power Fiat car towards Grey Town.