'Oh, I've given up hope,' continued the sad man dolefully.
'Still,' remarked Simms, 'I don't know that you could expect him to die just for your sake. I only venture that as an opinion, of course.'
'I don't ask that of him,' responded Wingfield. 'I'm not blaming him in any way; all I say is that he has spoilt my life. Here have I been waiting, waiting for five years, and I seem farther from publication than ever.'
'It is hard on you,' said Simms.
'But why did he break down in his story,' asked Rob, 'when he saw you?'
'Oh, the man has some sense of decency left, I suppose, and knows that he has ruined my career.'
'Is the Carlylean reminiscence taken from the biography?' inquired Simms.
'That is the sore point,' answered Wingfield sullenly. 'He used to shun society, but now he goes to clubs, banquets, and "At Homes," and tells the choice things in the memoir at every one of them. The book will scarcely be worth printing now.'
'I dare say he feels sorry for you,' said Simms, 'and sees that he has placed you in a false position.'
'He does in a way,' replied the literary executor, 'and yet I irritate him. When he was ill last December I called to ask for him every day, but he mistook my motives; and now he is frightened to be left alone with me.'