“Good-evening, Tristram,” said Germain. “Constantia told me of your return.” Duplessis dug the pavement with his stick.
“Did she? Well, it is true, you see.”
“I do see. You are going to pay Mary a visit, I suppose. She’s not very well, I’m sorry to say—a little overtired. Otherwise, I am sure she would have been delighted.”
Duplessis made no reply, and the other continued: “I told Constantia that I hoped to see you—to tell you a small piece of news. I am about to be married again. Mary has been so kind as to confide her future happiness into my hands. Perhaps you won’t misunderstand me if I say that some little fraction of that happiness depends upon her not seeing you for the moment. When she is rested, we may hope—The wedding will naturally be a very quiet one. Her people wish it, and my taste agrees with theirs. Otherwise we should have liked to have you among our guests. We promise ourselves the pleasure of seeing you at Southover in the near future. I think the place will please you. You must give an account of my pheasants in December.”
“That’s very good of you, Germain,” said Duplessis, looking him full in the face.
Mr. Germain turned to his waiting fly. “Have you other engagements in Blackheath?”
“None,” said Duplessis.
“No? Then perhaps I can offer you a seat in my carriage.”
“Thanks,” said Duplessis, “I’m walking;” nodded, and went forward, the way of the heath.
“The station,” said Mr. Germain.