"For God's sake," Hooker cried in mortal anguish, "do anything but that!"
For over six months the forlorn bibliophile remained away from the Lady of the Breviary. Somehow or other, it was not the missal which was foremost in his thoughts. His books, his autographs, his porcelains, his engravings had no longer the charm they once had. He no longer took an interest in the auction-sales, and the catalogues that came to him would lie neglected upon his desk.
He looked with particular distaste upon the "Three Trees" and the "Unpublishable Memoirs" and the Shakespeare-Bacon volume. He even thought of returning them to their owners! The great institute to be founded and called after his name, was a thing of the past! He had acted like a cad, he said to himself. To marry a woman for an old book was almost as bad as marrying for money!
One evening, Hooker came to the conclusion that he could not stand this loneliness, this desolation, any longer. He intended to leave the country, to wander in foreign lands! He would call again upon Miss Blaythwaite for the last time, but would she receive him?
His heart was beating rapidly when the maid told him she was in, and would see him.
And there was Jack Worthing with her, looking big and manly, and courageous as ever!
Miss Blaythwaite seemed delighted to see him. A sudden joy seemed to overspread her features! And Hooker noticed things about her he had never noticed before. He saw the appealing dimples in her cheeks—the fine hair blowing near the temples—the exquisite shape of her ears—the wonderful turquoise-blue of her eyes!
And Jack Worthing was talking of books! A miracle had happened! Somehow or other, Miss Blaythwaite seemed to take a decided interest in the library left her by her father, and during the last half of the year, she was continually speaking to Worthing of first editions and Caxtons; of Elzevirs and typography; of Americana, incunabula and such ridiculous things, and all in a jargon that was quite unintelligible to him. And Worthing determined to study the things she liked, and borrowed some reference-books from a library that told of the mysteries of the book-lovers' cult. And when Hooker heard Worthing speak of the rare first edition of Poe's Tamerlane, he almost fainted with surprise!
"Don't you want to look over father's books, Mr. Hooker," asked Miss Blaythwaite. "You may go in the library as usual, and make yourself at home. I have added a few things myself!"
"No, thank you, I'd rather remain here. Which side do you think will win the polo match to-morrow? Meadowbrook?"