Mrs. Somerton’s health did not improve, and so Phœbe did not come to Amy’s side, and Lionel Hammerton still remained at Barton Hall. A hundred times he had resolved to go, but he had resolved, as many times, to stay. By degrees Amy became more accustomed to his presence, though she had taken an opportunity, after a fortnight had elapsed, to hint that she was unhappy in his continued stay at Montem.
After this he went away to London for a month, preparatory to making final arrangements for his return to India; so he said. During this month Amy’s life flowed on again smoothly amidst these new scenes; she received visits and returned visits; she had given a grand ball to the county families surrounding Montem Castle, and his lordship had given an al fresco fête to his tenantry. Never had there been such gaiety at Montem Castle; never had the old place rejoiced in so gracious a mistress.
Meanwhile Lionel Hammerton led a life of excitement in London. Proud and weak, as the reader has seen, Earl Verner’s brother could not overcome his terrible disappointment. He was mad with vexation, and he hated himself for losing the prize which had fallen so strangely to his brother’s lot. That this woman had loved him with all her heart he now believed, and that she had married his brother out of pique or revenge he believed also. Why had he doubted her? That miserable thought about mercenary motives; he despised himself for harbouring it, and yet it was a plausible doubt, he confessed to himself. What should he do? Go to India again and for good, without returning to Montem. He would. There could be no good purpose served in seeing her again. It would be manly to depart now. He would do so. Thus he would resolve at night only to break his resolution in the morning, and the end was a cab to Paddington and a ticket for Brazencrook. When Lionel had arrived at Severntown, however, he changed his mind again, got out, and drove to the College Green, where he found Arthur Phillips at work in his familiar studio.
“At last,” said Arthur, reciprocating Lionel’s hearty greeting, “at last; I feared you had forgotten your friend.”
“No chance of that,” said Lionel; “your name is in everybody’s mouth, and I have seen your great picture ‘now on view.’”
“In England all this time, and not even a letter from you!” said Arthur.
“I meant to have looked you up the first day after my arrival,—I did indeed, but at the time I thought you miserable.”
“Miserable!” said the artist with some astonishment.
“Yes; but it was I all the time who had reason for sympathy.”
“Let me ring the bell,” said Arthur. “There! Now go on.”