"Pooh! What is such stuff to me?"

"I knew I should tease you. What do you think of Mr. Quarrier's chances?"

"Oh, he will be elected, no doubt."

Glazzard spoke absently, his eyes on Serena's face, but seemingly not conscious of her expression.

"I hope he will," she rejoined.

"What!--you hope so?"

"Yes, I do. I am convinced he is the right man. I agree with his principles. Henceforth I am a Radical."

Glazzard laughed mockingly, and Serena joined, but not in the same tone.

"I like him," she pursued, with a certain odd persistence. "If I could do it decently, I would canva.s.s for him. He is a manly man and means what he says. I like his wife, too--she is very sweet."

He glanced at her and pursed his lips.

"I am sure," added Serena, "you like me to praise such good friends of yours?"

"Certainly."

They were in the room where the grand piano stood, for Mrs. Mumbray had gone to pa.s.s the day with friends at a distance. Serena said of a sudden:

"Will you please play me something--some serious piece--one of the best you know?"

"You mean it?"

"I do. I want to hear you play a really n.o.ble piece. You won't refuse."

He eyed her in a puzzled way, but smiled, and sat down to the instrument. His choice was from Beethoven. As he played, Serena stood in an att.i.tude 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."

"When? Going abroad again?"

"To Sicily."

"Ha!--that means, I conjecture," said Denzil, searching his friend's face, "that a certain affair will come to nothing after all?"

"And what if you are right?" returned the other, slowly, averting his eyes.

"I sha'n't grieve. No, to tell you the truth, I shall not! So at last I may speak my real opinion. It wouldn't have done, Glazzard; it was a mistake, old fellow. I have never been able to understand it. You--a man of your standing--no, no, it was completely a mistake, believe me!"

Glazzard looked into the speaker's face, smiled again, and remarked calmly:

"That's unfortunate. I didn't say my engagement was at an end; and, in fact, I shall be married in a fortnight. We go to Sicily for the honeymoon."

A flush of embarra.s.sment rose to Denzil's face. For a moment he could not command himself; then indignation possessed him.

"That's too bad!" he exclaimed. "You took advantage of me. You laid a trap. I'm d.a.m.ned if I feel able to apologize!"

Glazzard turned away, and it seemed as if he would walk on. But he faced about again abruptly, laughed, held out his hand.

"No, it is I who should apologize. I did lay a trap, and it was too bad. But I wished to know your real opinion."

No one more pliable than Denzil. At once he took the hand that was offered and pressed it heartily.

"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."