“And looking dooced ridiculous,” he said angrily. And then, “Confound the jade!” he muttered. “How dare she!”
Then his wrinkled countenance changed, and a pleasant smile took the place of the angry look.
“Confound her! What a dig to give me with her sharp tongue. Well, it’s true enough, and I like her for it. Does she like Claire, or does she hate her and pretend to feel all this? Who can say? The more you know of a woman, the greater mystery she seems. Poor old Denville! The place doesn’t seem natural without him and his snuff-box. I miss him horribly. Now I wonder whether they’d miss me if I were to go—as I shall go—soon.”
He walked thoughtfully on.
“Yes; they’d miss me, and talk about me as if I were a confounded old curiosity, and make jocular remarks about my donkey—by George, how my corns shoot, I wish he were here. But no one will care when I’m gone—not one; and no one will be the better for my having lived.”
He walked on slowly, thinking of the last time he had seen Claire, and of the troubles that had fallen to her share, and then he muttered:
“Yes! something must be done.”