But he could not bear to talk to Bayne about his plans. They had lost their relish. He walked listlessly away, and thought it all over.
For the first time he saw his infatuation clearly. Was ever folly like his? If she had been a girl in humble life, would he not have asked whether she had a sweetheart? Yet he must go and give his heart to a lady without inquiry. There, where wisdom and prudence were most needed, he had speculated like an idiot. He saw it, and said to himself, “I have acted like a boy playing at pitch-farthing, not like a man who knew the value of his heart.”
And so he passed a miserable time, bemoaning the treasure that was now quite inaccessible instead of nearly, and the treasure of his own heart he had thrown away.
He awoke with a sense of misery and deep depression, and could not eat; and that was a novelty in his young and healthy life. He drank a cup of tea, however, and then went out, to avoid his mother's tender looks of anxious inquiry. He meant to tell her all one day; but to-day he was not strong enough. He must wait till he was cured; for cured he must be, cured he would be.
He now tried to give his mind to the task Amboyne had set him; but it was too hard: he gave it up, with rage and despair.
Then he made a desperate resolve, which will not surprise those who know the human heart. He would harden himself. He would see more of Miss Carden than ever; only it should be in quite a new light. He would look at her, and keep saying to himself all the time, “You are another man's wife.”
With this determination, he called at “Woodbine Villa.”
Miss Carden was not at home.
“Are you sure she is not at home?”
“Not at home,” replied the man stiffly.