Was he not--he suddenly asked himself
--a wiser man now than then? Did he not see into the truth of
things; whereas, formerly, he had seen only the deceptive surface?
There should be some solace in this reflection, if he took it well
to heart.
Then his mind wandered away to Norbert Franks, who at this moment
was somewhere enjoying himself. This afternoon he might be calling
upon the Crosses. Why should that thought be disagreeable? It was,
as he perceived, not for the first time. If he pictured the artist
chatting side by side with Bertha Cross, something turned cold
within him. By the bye, it was rather a long time since he had seen
Miss Cross; her mother had been doing the shopping lately. She might
come, perhaps, one day this week; the chance gave him something to
look forward to.
How often had he called himself a fool for paying heed to Bertha
Cross's visits?
CHAPTER 25
Again came springtime, and, as he stood behind the counter,
Warburton thought of all that was going on in the world he had
forsaken. Amusements for which he had never much cared haunted his
fancy; feeling himself shut out from the life of grace and
intellect, he suffered a sense of dishonour, as though his position
resulted from some personal baseness, some crime. He numbered the
acquaintances he had dropped, and pictured them as mentioning his
name--if ever they did so--with cold disapproval. Godfrey
Sherwood had ceased to write; it was six months since his last
letter, in which he hinted a fear that the Irish enterprise would
have to be abandoned for lack of capital.
Pages:
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174