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Raeburn, whose mind was ordinarily destitute of the most elementary capacity for social intrigue, began to plot in detail how it should be done. He relied first upon winning his grandfather his popular distinguished grandfather, whose lightest word had weight in Brookshire.
"Why, Raeburn, I seem to have missed you twenty times a day this last fortnight. We have been always on each other's tracks without meeting. Yet I think, if we had met, we could have kept our tempers." "Miss Boyce, I think you do not know Mr. Wharton," said Aldous, stiffly. "May I introduce you?"
"Much as I expected," said Raeburn, taking up a Marechal Niel rose from the table and studying it abstractedly. "I've had a sentence of Auerbach's in my head all day, 'The martyrdom of the modern world consists of a long array of thousands of trifling annoyances. These things are in themselves insignificant, but multiplication makes them a great power. You have been feeling this heat, I'm afraid.
With philosophy it would bring thought the material to work on. Without philosophy it would simply distract and irritate the mind." "Name, name!" cried the fellows. "The winner of the Raeburn," said Thomas Aquinas, "is Mr. John Gourlay." Gourlay and his friends made for the nearest public-house. The occasion, they thought, justified a drink. The others chaffed Gourlay about Tam's advice.
Harry proceeded to obey, Raeburn watching him, and every now and again, his greed rekindled by some bright scintillation, abstracting another jewel from the secretary's share, and adding it to his own. When this was finished, both proceeded to the front door, which Raeburn cautiously opened to observe the street.
"Well, well," she said, pityingly, "you are but young; you will think very differently ten years hence." Erica kept back an angry retort with difficulty, and Raeburn, whose keen sense of justice was offended, instantly came forward in her defense, though her words had been like a fresh stab in the old wound. "That is no argument, Jean," he said quickly.
The light from above him was softened in a myriad boughs, no longer mere light and cold, but a spirit indwelling as their soul, and they were boughs no longer but a woven dream. He walked beneath a shadowed glory. But he was dead to it all. One only fact possessed him. He had won the Raeburn he had won the Raeburn! The road flew beneath him.
"Would it make you happier to know that I love Erica that I have loved her for nearly nine years?" Raeburn gave an ejaculation of astonishment. There was a long silence; for the idea, once suggested to him, he began to see what a likely thing it was and to wonder that he had not thought of it before. "I think you are well suited to each other," he said at last.
But he noticed nothing, and even the sensation of his triumph was passing off. He was once more in the Mellor drive; Aldous Raeburn and Marcella stood in front of him; the thrill of the moment beat once more in his pulse. He buried his head in his hands and thought. The news of the murder had reached him from Mr. Boyce.
At the same moment a guest entered by the same door, a tall grave man in the prime of life, but already grey haired. Wharton, to his surprise, recognised Aldous Raeburn, and saw also that the master of the house had him by the arm. They came towards him, talking. The crowd prevented him from getting effectually out of their way, but he turned aside and took up a magazine lying on a bookcase near.
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