“Certainly,” said he. And a silence followed.
“Here is a carriage at the door,” said Richard Arden. “Let us dismiss Longcluse, and look a little more like ourselves.”
That evening there came letters as usual to Mr. Longcluse, and among others a note from Lady May Penrose, reminding him of her little garden-party at Richmond next day.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, starting up and reading the cards on his chimney, “I thought it was the day after. It was very good-natured, poor old thing, her reminding me. I shall see Alice Arden there. Not one line does she vouchsafe. But is not she right? I think the more highly of her for not writing. I don't think she ought to write. Oh, Heaven grant she may meet me as usual? Does she mean it? If she did not, would she not have got her brother to write, or have written herself a cold line, to end our acquaintance?”
So he tried to comfort himself, and to keep alive his dying hope by these artificial stimulants.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE GARDEN PARTY.
