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His custom rapidly diminished a misfortune, however, that was probably reckoned among his better accidents by Owen Warland, who was becoming more and more absorbed in a secret occupation which drew all his science and manual dexterity into itself, and likewise gave full employment to the characteristic tendencies of his genius. This pursuit had already consumed many months.
I'll tell you what he is the power behind the throne, the black Pope, the King-maker and all the rest of it. Don't you read the papers? Of course I'll never get on if you won't interest yourself in politics. And to think you might have married that man! Isabel. And got you your secretaryship! Warland. Oberville has them all in the hollow of his hand. Isabel. Well, you'll see him at five o'clock.
Isabel. It's not for me to diminish your triumph. Warland. By Jove, I can't think why Mrs. Raynor didn't tell me he was coming. A man like that one doesn't take him for granted, like the piano- tuner! I wonder I didn't see it in the papers. Isabel. Is he grown such a great man? Warland. Oberville? Great? John Oberville?
His aspect had a childishness such as might have induced a stranger to pat him on the head pausing, however, in the act, to wonder what manner of child was here. It was as if the spirit had gone out of him, leaving the body to flourish in a sort of vegetable existence. Not that Owen Warland was idiotic. He could talk, and not irrationally.
Owen Warland, meanwhile, glanced sidelong at Annie, to discover whether she sympathized in her husband's estimate of the comparative value of the beautiful and the practical.
Seated within the shop, sidelong to the window with his pale face bent earnestly over some delicate piece of mechanism on which was thrown the concentrated lustre of a shade lamp, appeared a young man. "What can Owen Warland be about?" muttered old Peter Hovenden, himself a retired watchmaker, and the former master of this same young man whose occupation he was now wondering at.
Nonsense!" replied Owen Warland, with a movement of disgust; for he was full of little petulances. "It can never be discovered. It is a dream that may delude men whose brains are mystified with matter, but not me. Besides, if such a discovery were possible, it would not be worth my while to make it only to have the secret turned to such purposes as are now effected by steam and water power.
I used to hear it said that he admired you tremendously; there was a report that you were engaged. Don't you remember? Why, it was in all the papers. By Jove, Isabel, what a match that would have been! Isabel. You are disinterested! Warland. Well, I can't help thinking Isabel. That I paid you a handsome compliment? Eh? Ah, yes exactly. What was I saying? Oh about the report of your engagement.
Warland. I don't suppose he's ever heard of me, worse luck! I never ask questions, do I? But it was so long ago and Oberville almost belongs to history he will one of these days at any rate. Just tell me did he want to marry you? Isabel. Warland. Then of course he did. As you say, it was so long ago; I don't see why I shouldn't tell you.
"Not so! not so!" murmured Owen Warland, as if his handiwork could have understood him. "Thou has gone forth out of thy master's heart. There is no return for thee."
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