"Impossible for me to say just now," replied George; "control your curiosity for yet a short time longer, and you shall know. Meanwhile you may depend on what I have said to you. I only wish you were as well out of this other affair."
No more was said on the subject, and Paul worked on as best he might, impervious to the sarcasms which his occasional fits of musing evoked from Mr. Dunlop.
Soon after two o'clock he closed his blotting-book, and asked the Chief's leave to go away; alleging with a laugh that he had scarcely got acclimatised to the place, and that he must slide into his work by degrees.
Good-natured Mr. Courtney of course assented, and after the performance of a rapid toilet, Paul hurried away.
The depression under which he laboured still continued in its fullest force, and he could not help contrasting his present feelings with those which animated him in the first days of his acquaintance with Daisy. Then all was bright and roseate; now all was dull and dark. His ideas as to the future were indeed no more definite then than they were now; but the haze which hung over it then and shrouded it from his view was a light summer mist; not so now--a dense gloomy fog. And she was changed; he feared there could be no doubt of that. In a few minutes he should be able to ascertain whether there was any foundation for his suspicions; in the meantime he indulged them to the fullest extent. The tone of her letters had certainly altered. The letters themselves were written as though she were preoccupied at the time, and read like mere perfunctory performances, executed under a sense of duty, and finished with a sigh of relief.
What should have changed her? Most men would have supposed at once, on finding an alteration in the tone and manner of the woman they love, that she had been receiving attentions in some other quarter. Paul hesitated to do this; not that he was not aware of the power of Daisy's beauty and attractiveness, nor entirely because of his faith in her, but principally because they had gone on for a certain number of months together, during all which time she must have had innumerable chances of throwing him over and behaving falsely to him had she been so disposed; while all the time she had kept true to him.
Les absents ont toujours tort, says the proverb. Could that have been the reason? What woman was to be trusted? How mad it was of him to leave her for so long! It was only in order to satisfy his mother, and to show her how impossible it was for him to comply with this project which she had so long cherished for his future, that he had consented to go down to Devonshire. By-the-way, what was that that George had hinted at? "There need be no remorse on his part," George had said about the refusal to fulfil his mother's wishes in regard to marrying Annette. What could he have meant? Was it possible that his friend had really been taken with the girl? He had some notion of the kind down at Beachborough, but had dismissed it from his mind as unworthy serious consideration. Now there really seemed to be some foundation for the notion, and Annette certainly cared for him. Fancy them married! How jolly it would be! What a capital husband George would make, and what a pleasant house it would be to go to! Fancy "old George" tremendously rich, with a lot of money, going in to give swell parties, and all that kind of thing! No, he could not fancy that; whatever income he had, George would always remain the same glorious, simple-minded, honest, splendid fellow that he was now.
Poor old mater! how awfully she seemed to take his decision to heart! She said this had been her pet project for so many years, and it was hard to see it overthrown at last. George wouldn't do as well, you suppose? No; it was for her own boy, her own darling, the spes gregis, that she wanted the wealth and the position; as though that would be the least value, if there were not happiness. His mother didn't seem to understand that, and how could he have any happiness without Daisy? Oh, confound it! there, he had run off that track of thought for a few minutes, and had a small respite; and now he was on it again, and as miserable as ever.
Turning over these thoughts in his mind, Paul Derinzy hurried through the streets and across the Park, and speedily reached the well-known place of meeting. It was a sharp bright day in the early winter. The leaves were off the trees now, and there was an uninterrupted view for many hundred yards. Paul gazed eagerly about him, but could see nothing of Daisy. Usually, to the discredit of his gallantry, she had been first to arrive; now she was not there, although the time for meeting was past; and Paul took it as a bad omen, and his heart sank within him.
He took two or three turns up and down the dreary avenue, and at length Daisy appeared in sight. He hurried to meet her, and as she approached him he could not help being struck with her marvellous beauty.