"I'm a blundering fellow. Do come and spend an hour with me
to-night. From eleven to twelve. I dine out with fools, and shall
rejoice to see you afterwards."
"Thanks, I can't. I go up to town by the 7.15."
They were in a suburban road, and at the moment some ladies
approached. Quarrier, who was acquainted with them, raised his hat
and spoke a few hasty words, after which he walked on by Glazzard's
side.
"My opinion," he said, "is worth very little. I had no right
whatever to express it, having such slight evidence to go upon. It
was double impertinence. If _you_ can't be trusted to choose a wife,
who could? I see that--now that I have made a fool of myself."
"Don't say any more about it," replied the other, in a good-natured
voice. "We have lived in the palace of truth for a few minutes,
that's all."
"So you go to Sicily. There you will be in your element. Live in the
South, Glazzard; I'm convinced you will be a happier man than in
this mill-smoke atmosphere. You have the artist's temperament;
indulge it to the utmost. After all, a man ought to live out what is
in him. Your wedding will be here, of course?"
"Yes, but absolutely private."
"You won't reject me when I offer good wishes? There is no man
living who likes you better than I do, or is more anxious for your
happiness. Shake hands again, old fellow.
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