"If he loves me as I would be loved, let him dare
to follow!"
To-morrow morning he would stand before her, grocerdom a thousand
miles away. They would walk together, as when they were among the
Alps. Why, even then, had his heart prompted, had honour permitted,
he could have won her. He believed now, what at the time he had
refused to admit, that Franks' moment of jealous anger was not
without its justification. Again they would meet among the
mountains, and the shop in Fulham Road would be seen as at the wrong
end of a telescope--its due proportions. They would return
together to England, and at once be married. As for the grocery
business--
Reason lost itself amid ardours of the natural man.
He paid little heed to the country through which he was passing. He
flung himself on to the dark platform, and tottered drunkenly in
search of the exit. _Billet_? Why, yes, he had a _billet_ somewhere.
Hotel? Yes, yes, the hotel,--no matter which. It took some minutes
before his brain could grasp the idea that his luggage cheque was
wanted; he had forgotten that he had any luggage at all. Ultimately,
he was thrust into some sort of a vehicle, which set him down at the
hotel door. Food? Good Heavens, no; but something to drink, and a
bed to tumble into--quick.
He stood in a bedroom, holding in his hand a glass of he knew not
what beverage. Before him was a waiter, to whom--very much to his
own surprise--he discoursed fluently in French, or something meant
for that tongue.
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