Afterwards in his own sanctum, with drawn curtains and a leaping fire, he became more cheerful. It was hard to be moody in that pleasant room, with the light glancing from silver and vellum and dark oak, and a thousand memories about it of the clean, outdoor life. Wratislaw stretched his legs to the blaze and watched the coils of blue smoke mounting from his pipe with a feeling of keen pleasure. His errand was out of the focus of his thoughts.
It was Lewis himself who recalled him to the business.
“I thought of coming down to town,” he said. “I have been getting out of spirits up here, and I wanted to be near you.”
“Then it was an excellent chance which brought me up to-night. But why are you dull? I thought you were the sort of man who is sufficient unto himself, you know.”
“I am not,” he said sharply. “I never realized my gross insufficiency so bitterly.”
“Ah!” said Wratislaw, sitting up, “love?”
“Did you happen to see Miss Wishart’s engagement in the papers?”
“I never read the papers. But I have heard about this: in fact, I believe I have congratulated Stocks.”
“Do you know that she ought to have married me?” Lewis cried almost shrilly. “I swear she loved me. It was only my hideous folly that drove her from me.”
“Folly?” said Wratislaw, smiling. “Folly? Well you might call it that. I have come up ‘ane’s errand,’ as your people hereabouts say, to talk to you like a schoolmaster, Lewie. Do you mind a good talking-to?”