He touched the electric bell. Taking her hands, he bent down and kissed them.
“Dear lady,” he said, “goodbye—good fortune! Conquer new worlds, and remember—white is your color, and Paquin your one modiste. Morrison, Lady Barrington’s carriage.”
“LOVE SHALL MAKE ALL THINGS NEW”
Mr. Pengarth was loth to depart. He felt that all pretext for lingering was gone, that he had outstayed his welcome. Yet he found himself desperately striving for some excuse to prolong an interview which was to all effects and purposes concluded.
“I will do my best, Sir Wingrave,” he said, reverting to the subject of their interview, “to study Miss Lundy’s interests in every way. I will also see that she has the letter you have left for her within eight days from now. But if you could see you way to leave some sort of address so that I should have a chance of communicating with you, if necessary, I should assume my responsibilities with a lighter heart.”
Wingrave gave vent to a little gesture of annoyance.
“My dear sir,” he said, “surely I have been explicit enough. I have told you that, within a week from now, I shall be practically dead. I shall never return to England—you will never see me again. I have given life here a fair trial, and found it a failure. I am going to make a new experiment—and it is going to be in an unexplored country. You could not reach me there through the post. You, I think, would scarcely care to follow me. Let it go at that.”
Mr. Pengarth took up his bag with a sigh.
“Sir Wingrave,” he said, “I am a simple man, and life with me has always been a very simple affair. I recognize the fact, of course, that I am not in a position to judge or to understand the mental attitude of one who, like yourself, has suffered and passed through great crises. But I cannot help wishing that you could find it possible to try, for a time, the quiet life of a countryman in this beautiful home of yours.”