He said nothing; but for all his imperturbability, it annoyed him, as the gnat annoyed the lion; and, though scarcely acknowledged even to himself, it lurked under various moods and motives, impelling him to words and acts which produced dangerous consequences.
“Pray forgive us, we are very late.”
“Time goes so fast, we quite forgot!” exclaimed Felix and Gladys both together, as they hurried into the library, one bright March morning, looking so blithe and young, that Helwyze suddenly felt old and sad and bitter-hearted, as if they had stolen something from him.
“I have learned to wait,” he said, with the cold brevity which was the only sign of displeasure Gladys ever saw in him.
In remorseful silence she hastened to find her place in the book they were reading; but Canaris, who seemed bubbling over with good spirits, took no notice of the chill, and asked, with unabated cheerfulness,—
“Any commissions, sir, beside these letters? I feel as if I ‘could put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes,’ it is such a glorious, spring-like day.”
“Nothing but the letters. Stay a moment, while I add another;” and, taking up the pen he had laid by, Helwyze wrote hastily,—
“To Olivia at the South:—
“The swallows will be returning soon; return with them, if you can. I am deadly dull: come and make a little mischief to amuse me. I miss you.
Jasper.”