He might have sent another telegram to Alexandra
Grove, but he was too proud to do so. He dined alone and most miserably
at the club. Inspired by unhappiness and resentment, he resolved to go
to bed; in bed he might read himself to sleep. But in the hall of the
club his feet faltered. Perhaps it was the sight of hats and sticks that
made him vacillate, or a glimpse of reluctantly dying silver in the
firmament over Candle Court. He wavered; he stood still at the foot of
the stairs. The next moment he was in the street. He had decided to call
on Agg at the studio. Agg might have the clue to Marguerite's astounding
conduct, though he had it not. He took a hansom, after saying he would
walk; he was too impatient for walking. Possibly Marguerite would be at
the studio; possibly a letter of hers had miscarried; letters did
miscarry. He was in a state of peculiar excitement as he paid the
cabman--an enigma to himself.
The studio was quite dark. Other studios showed lights, but not Agg's.
From one studio came the sound of a mandolin--he thought it was a
mandolin--and the sound seemed pathetic, tragic, to his ears. Agg was
perhaps in bed; he might safely arouse her; she would not object. But
no! He would not do that. Pride again! It would be too humiliating for
him, the affianced, to have to ask Agg: "I say, do you know anything
about Marguerite?" The affianced ought to be the leading authority as to
the doings of Marguerite.
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