“I believe my success awed him,” he said.
CHAPTER VII
Wherein Ambition shrinks from looking down the Ladder
The brooding man was still standing in the middle of the great studio when the butler entered, with catlike tread, and handed him a card on a silver salver.
Pangbutt took the card without looking at it.
“Take away the tray, Dukes,” he said.
He pointed with a trace of disgust to the broken meats, and, as he watched the silent servant gathering up the relics of the hurried feast, all that shabby Bohemian life, the very thought of which he had banished for years, came flooding back with disgust across the threshold of his splendid home.... How he loathed it!... But—the strange irony of it all! That the brilliant ones of the time of his pupillage should have gone under!... He himself had been the commonplace one, the near to dullard—he smiled—but here was he, and there were they!... Strange how the promise of youth is unfulfilled!... The Baddlesmeres gone under! God! they of all people!... Whilst for him? Fame, stretching out a vast glittering prospect as he topped the hill of endeavour.... He had left no smallest effort unmade to advance his own interests—and he stood at last in view of the promised land where hang the glittering prizes. By heavens! they were within hand’s reach——
He was roused by the butler’s voice, as the old servant opened the door to depart: