"I will take my leave, then. By-the-by, what do you suppose the
Hazeldean rental is worth—net?"
"I don't know, nor care. You have no designs upon that too?"
"Well, I like keeping up family connections. Mr. Frank seems a liberal young gentleman."
Before Egerton could answer, the baron had glided to the door, and, nodding pleasantly, vanished with that nod. Egerton remained, standing on his solitary hearth. A drear, single man's room it was, from wall to wall, despite its fretted ceilings and official pomp of Brahmah escritoires and red boxes. Drear and cheerless,—no trace of woman's habitation, no vestige of intruding, happy children. There stood the austere man alone. And then with a deep sigh he muttered, "Thank Heaven, not for long,—it will not last long."
Repeating those words, he mechanically locked up his papers, and pressed his hand to his heart for an instant, as if a spasm had shot through it.
"So—I must shun all emotion!" said he, shaking his head gently.
In five minutes more Audley Egerton was in the streets, his mien erect, and his step firm as ever.
"That man is made of bronze," said a leader of the Opposition to a friend as they rode past the minister. "What would I not give for his nerves!"