But
when Warburton tried to imagine himself in such a position, a choked
laugh of humourous disdain heaved his chest.
He wandered homewards in a dream. He relived those moments on the
Embankment at Chelsea, when his common sense, his reason, his true
emotions, were defeated by an impulse now scarcely intelligible; he
saw himself shot across Europe, like a parcel despatched by express;
and all that fury and rush meaningless as buffoonery at a pantomime!
Yet this was how the vast majority of men "fell in love"--if ever
they did so at all. This was the prelude to marriages innumerable,
marriages destined to be dull as ditchwater or sour as verjuice. In
love, forsooth! Rosamund at all events knew the value of that, and
had saved him from his own infatuation. He owed her a lifelong
gratitude.
That evening he re-read a long letter from Jane which had reached
him yesterday. His sister gave him a full description of the new
home in Suffolk, and told of the arrangement she had made with Miss
Winter, whereby, in a twelvemonth, she would be able to begin
earning a little money, and, if all went well, before long would
become self-supporting. Could he not run down to see them? Their
mother had borne the removal remarkably well, and seemed, indeed, to
have a new vigour; possibly the air might suit her better than at
The Haws. Will mused over this, but had no mind to make the journey
just yet. It would be a pain to him to see his mother in that new
place; it would shame him to see his sister at work, and to think
that all this change was on his account.
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