That poor devil (his name, I remember,
was Workman) was really and truly hounded to insanity and the grave,
and she saw the thing in all its dreadful details. I would rather
she had got into a rage about it, as I should--but that isn't her
nature."
"Let us hope she could rejoice when Laud was laid by the heels."
"I fear not. I'm afraid she would forget, and make excuses for the
blackguard."
Glazzard smiled at the ceiling, and smoked silently. Turning his
eyes at length, and seeing Quarrier in a brown study, he
contemplated the honest face, then asked:
"How old is she?"
"Just one-and-twenty."
"I should have thought younger."
Nothing more was said of Lilian, and very soon they went to the room
where she awaited them.
"I know you are a musician, Mr. Glazzard," said Lilian before long.
"Will you let me have the pleasure of hearing you play something?"
"Some enemy hath done this," the guest made reply, looking towards
Denzil.
But without further protest he went to the piano and played two or
three short pieces. Any one with more technical knowledge than the
hearers would have perceived that he was doing his best. As it was,
Lilian frequently turned to Denzil with a look of intense delight.
"Glazzard," exclaimed his friend at length, "it puzzles me how such
a lazy fellow as you are has managed to do so much in so many
directions.
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