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There had been nothing surreptitious about it, but his interest in Clara had led him to note things about his favored rival which might have escaped the attention of others less concerned. Ellis was an excellent judge of character, and had formed a very decided opinion of Tom Delamere.
Two young men, members of the fast set at the Clarendon Club, were playing cards at a small table, near which stood another, decorated with an array of empty bottles and glasses. Sprawling on a lounge, with flushed face and disheveled hair, his collar unfastened, his vest buttoned awry, lay Tom Delamere, breathing stertorously, in what seemed a drunken sleep.
There would be great disappointment if the lynching did not occur. "Let Mr. Delamere swear, if he wants to save the nigger," came again from the crowd. "Certainly," assented Carteret. "Mr. Delamere can have no possible objection to taking the oath. Is there a notary public present, or a justice of the peace?" A man stepped forward. "I am a justice of the peace," he announced. "Very well, Mr.
Ellis was aware that Delamere had been thrown over, but a certain delicacy restrained him from following up immediately the advantage which the absence of his former rival gave him.
This is one of those occasions when experience is valuable, and I shall be glad to have your opinion as to which plan is the better." Pearce, meanwhile, had been peering through the glass again; but when I finished speaking he laid it down and turned to me. "'Pon my word, Mr Delamere, it's very difficult to say," he answered.
Knowing Delamere's habits, he first went directly to the bar-room, the atmosphere would be congenial, even if he were not drinking. Delamere was not there. Stepping next into the office, he asked the clerk if young Mr. Delamere had been at the hotel. "Yes, sir," returned the man at the desk, "he was here at luncheon, and then went out fishing in a boat with several other gentlemen.
After this visit, Lord Y gave me a general invitation to his house, where I frequently saw Miss Delamere, and frequently compared her with my recollection of Lady Geraldine . Cecilia Delamere was not so entertaining, but she was more interesting than Lady Geraldine: the flashes of her ladyship's wit, though always striking, were sometimes dangerous; Cecilia's wit, though equally brilliant, shone with a more pleasing and inoffensive light.
This was a long time, many things might happen in a year, especially to a man like Tom Delamere. If for any reason Delamere lost his chance, Ellis meant to be next in the field. He had not made love to Clara, but he had missed no opportunity of meeting her and making himself quietly and unobtrusively agreeable.
Tom counted out ten five-dollar gold pieces upon the table at his elbow. "And here's another, Sandy," he said, adding an eleventh, "as interest for the use of it." "Thank y', Mistuh Tom. I didn't spec' no in-trus', but I don' never 'fuse gol' w'en I kin git it." "And here," added Delamere, reaching carelessly into a bureau drawer, "is a little old silk purse that I've had since I was a boy.
The bird would kiss its master on the face, tweak his hair, and if one said "Poor old fellow!" in a commiserating voice would assume a sympathetic air of depression. Miss Barrett lived hard by, in Delamere Terrace. With her on Sundays Browning listened at Bedford Chapel to the sermons of a non-conformist preacher, Thomas Jones, to some of which when published in 1884, he prefixed an introduction.
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