“Thank you, dear mother, no: not to-day. I promised to be at the club.”
“If you promised, of course, you must go. Good-bye. You will come again soon, will you not?”
“Some day next week, if not sooner. Good-bye, mother.”
Douglas left Manchester Square, not to go to his club, where he had no real appointment, but to avoid spending the afternoon with his mother, who, though a little hurt at his leaving her, was also somewhat relieved by being rid of him. They maintained toward one another an attitude which their friends found beautiful and edifying; but, like artists’ models, they found the attitude fatiguing, in spite of their practice and its dignity.
At Hyde Park Corner, Douglas heard his name unceremoniously shouted. Turning, he saw Marmaduke Lind, carelessly dressed, walking a little behind him.
“Where are you going to?” said Marmaduke, abruptly.
“Why do you ask?” said Douglas, never disposed to admit the right of another to question him.
“I want to have a talk with you. Come and lunch somewhere, will you?”
“Yes, if you wish.”
“Let’s go to the South Kensington Museum.”