"Why do we never see
you?" she wrote. "They tell me yen have passed the winter in
England; why should you avoid your friends who have been condemned
to the same endurance? I am always at home on Thursday."
He held the dainty little note, and mused over it. At one time the
sight of this handwriting had quickened his pulses with a delicious
hope; now it stimulated his gloomy reflections. Such a revival of
the past was very unseasonable.
Before going to bed he wrote several letters. They were
announcements of his coming marriage--brief, carelessly worded,
giving as little information as possible.
The next morning was taken up with business. He saw, among other
people, his friend Stark, the picture-collecting lawyer. Stark had
letters from Polterham which assured him that the Liberals were
confident of victory.
"Confounded pity that Quarrier just got the start of you!" he
exclaimed. "You could have kept that seat for the rest of your
life."
"Better as it is," was the cheerful reply. "I should have been
heartily sick of the business by now."
"There's no knowing. So you marry Miss Mumbray? An excellent choice,
I have no doubt. Hearty congratulations!--Oh, by-the-bye, Jacobs &
Burrows have a capital Greuze--do look in if you are passing."
Glazzard perceived clearly enough that the lawyer regarded this
marriage just as Quarrier did, the _pisaller_ of a disappointed and
embarrassed man.
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