Dinner dismissed, a bottle of whisky on the table, a kettle steaming
by the fire, Denzil's pipe and Glazzard's cigar comfortably glowing,
there came a long pause.
"Well, I have a story to fell you," said Quarrier, at length.
"So I supposed," murmured the other, without eagerness.
"I don't know that I _should_ have told it but for that chance
encounter at Kew. But I'm not sorry. I think, Glazzard, you are the
one man in the world in whom I have perfect confidence."
The listener just bent his head. His features were impassive.
"It concerns Lilian, of course," Quarrier pursued, when he had taken
a few puffs less composedly than hitherto. "I am telling the story
without her leave, but--well, in a way, as I said, the necessity
is forced upon me. I can't help doing many things just now that I
should avoid if I had my choice. I have undertaken to fight society
by stratagem. For my own part, I would rather deal it a plain blow
in the face, and bid it do its worst; but"----He waved his hand.
Glazzard murmured and nodded comprehension.
"I'll go back to the beginning. That was about three years ago. I
was crossing the North Sea (you remember the time; I said good-bye
to you in the Academy, where your bust was), and on the boat I got
into conversation with a decent kind of man who had his wife and
family with him, going to settle for a time at Stockholm; a merchant
of some sort.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120