The antithesis between "then" and "now" struck him sharply, as he
dismounted. But for that last quarter of an hour with Diana, how
jubilantly would he have entered the house! Ten minutes with Lady
Felton--a dear, chattering woman!--and all would have been known. He
pictured instinctively the joyous flutter in the house--the merry
dinner--perhaps the toasts.
As it was, he slipped quietly into the house, hoping that his return
might pass unnoticed. He was thankful to find no one about--the hall and
drawing-room deserted. The women had gone up to rest before dinner; the
men had not long before come back muddy from hunting, and were
changing clothes.
Where was Sir James Chide?
He looked into the smoking-room. A solitary figure was sitting by the
fire. Sir James had a new novel beside him; but he was not reading, and
his cigar lay half smoked on the ash-tray beside him.
He was gazing into the blaze, his head on his hand, and his quick start
and turn as the door of the smoking-room opened showed him to be not
merely thoughtful but expectant.
He sprang up.
"Is that you, Oliver?"
He came forward eagerly. He had known Marsham from a child, had watched
his career, and formed a very shrewd opinion of his character.
Pages:
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283