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"How it happened," he had written to his newly-married friend, in telling of Lilian's death, "I will explain some day; I cannot speak of it yet." Glazzard's response was full of manly sympathy. "I don't pretend," wrote the connoisseur, "that I am ideally mated, but my wife is a good girl, and I understand enough of happiness in marriage to appreciate to the full how terrible is your loss.
Lilian coloured, and tried to speak in the same tone, but it was with difficulty that she used her voice at all. Glazzard's departure from Polterham promised her such relief of mind that she could not face him without a sense of shame. "Telegraph the result, if it is favourable," said Glazzard. "You shall have an address in time for that." "If it is favourable?
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.
After drinking a cup of coffee in the refreshment-room, he crossed to another platform, and then paced up and down for a quarter of an hour, until the ringing of a bell gave notice that a train which he awaited was just arriving. It steamed into the station, and Glazzard's eye, searching among the passengers who got out, quickly recognized a tall, thin figure.
It's cut out for you. Act now, or never again pretend that you want a chance." A smile of disdain settled upon Glazzard's lips, but his eyes had lost their vacancy. "On the Radical side?" he asked, mockingly. "For Manchester and Brummagem?" "For Parliament, my dear boy! For Westminster, St. Stephen's, distinction, a career!
These trumpetings to the battle restored Glazzard's self-satisfaction; he smiled once more, and walked on with lighter step. Just outside the town, in a dark narrow road, he was startled by the sudden rising of a man's figure. A voice exclaimed, in thick, ebrious tones: "Who are you for? What's you're colour?" "Who are you for?" called out Glazzard, in return, as he walked past.
A minute passed, and Glazzard's voice again sounded close to him. "Quarrier, you can't forgive me, and I don't wish you to. But may I hope that you won't let my wife know of it?" "You are safe from me," answered Denzil, barely glancing at him, and at once walked away. He returned to the vestibule, descended the stairs, went out into the court.
Glazzard's crown showed an incipient baldness, the allusion to his hair was perhaps unfortunate. Lilian fancied that her guest betrayed a slight annoyance; she at once interposed with a remark that led away from such dangerous ground. Mr.
I have a splitting headache," said William. "Let us get home." Quarrier was still on the platform, but at this moment he caught Glazzard's eye, and came hastening down. His friend stepped forward to meet him. "Well, how did it go?" Denzil asked, gaily. "You have great aptitude for that kind of thing." "So it strikes me. Will you engage yourself to dine with me the day after to-morrow?"
The dangers are not great; and if they were, I should prefer to risk them. You electioneering! Ho, ho!" Glazzard's lips were close drawn, his eyes veiled by the drooping lids. He had ceased to smoke, and when, a few minutes later, he threw away his cigar, it was all but squeezed flat by the two fingers which had seemed to hold it lightly.
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