Between six and seven he was knocking at the door in Welbeck Street. He had tried his latch-key, but had found it inefficient. As he was supposed to be at Liverpool, the door had in fact been locked. At last it was opened by Lady Carbury herself. He had fallen more than once, and was soiled with the gutter. Most of my readers will not probably know how a man looks when he comes home drunk at six in the morning; but they who have seen the thing will acknowledge that a sorrier sight cannot meet a mother’s eye than that of a son in such a condition. ‘Oh, Felix!’ she exclaimed.
‘It’sh all up,’ he said, stumbling in.
‘What has happened, Felix?’
‘Discovered, and be d----- to...