His choice was from Beethoven. As he played, Serena
stood in an attitude of profound attention. When the music ceased,
she went up to him and held out her hand.
"Thank you, Eustace. I don't think many people can play like that."
"No; not very many," he replied quietly, and thereupon kissed her
fingers.
He went to the window and looked out into the chill, damp garden.
"Serena, have you any idea what Sicily is like at this time of
year?"
"A faint imagination. Very lovely, no doubt."
"I want to go there."
"Do you?" she answered, carelessly, and added in lower tones, "So do
I."
"There's no reason why you shouldn't. Marry me next week, and we
will go straight to Messina."
"I will marry you in a fortnight from to-day," said Serena, in
quivering voice.
"You will?"
Glazzard walked back to Highmead with a countenance which alternated
curiously between smiling and lowering. The smile was not agreeable,
and the dark look showed his face at its worst. He was completely
absorbed in thought, and when some one stopped full in front of him
with jocose accost, he gave a start of alarm.
"I should be afraid of lamp-posts," said Quarrier, "if I had that
somnambulistic habit. Why haven't you looked in lately? Men of
infinite leisure must wait upon the busy."
"My leisure, thank the destinies!" replied Glazzard, "will very soon
be spent out of hearing of election tumult.
Pages:
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209