He brooded for a moment, and the lines that came into his face gave it an expression of unrest and melancholy out of keeping with its natural tone.
In a few minutes he was gone, and presently Serena returned to the studio. She found her husband in a dark reverie, a mood to which he often yielded, which she always did her best to banish.
"Do you think, Eustace," she asked, "that Mr. Quarrier will marry again?"
"Oh, some day, of course."
"I shall be sorry. There's something I have often meant to tell you about his wife; I will now."
He looked up attentively. Serena had never been admitted to his confidence regarding Lilian's story; to her, the suicide was merely a woful result of disordered health.
"But for her," she continued, smiling archly, "I should perhaps not have married you. I was with doubts about myself and about you. Then I went to Mrs. Quarrier, and—what a thing to do!—asked her what she thought of you! She told me, and I came away without a doubt left.—That's why I cried so much when we heard of her death. I should have told you then if you hadn't got vexed with me—I'm sure I don't know why."
Glazzard laughed, and dismissed the subject carelessly.
Not long after, he was alone. After much pacing about the room, he came to a stand before his clay masterpiece, and stared at it as though the dull eyes fascinated him. Of a sudden he raised his fist and with one blow beat the head into a shapeless mass.
Then he went out, locking the door behind him.