“Thank you,” said Herbert. “This is all I could expect.”
With trembling hands the sculptor placed the paper in an envelope, and once more tendered it to Herbert.
“No, thank you,” said Herbert. “People have been tempted to suppress letters before now. Post it in the ordinary way.”
Gerald left the room. He returned in a few moments, and Herbert knew that the letter had been posted. He had nothing further to do with Gerald, so held out his hand affably.
“No,” said Gerald, “I would rather not.” His eyes were gleaming strangely.
“As you will,” said Herbert with indifference.
“I will change my mind,” said Gerald in a low voice, and taking the other’s hand; “condemned people always shake hands with the hangman, I think.”
He spoke with a ghastly attempt at mirth. Herbert left the studio without another word, but, as he drove to Mrs. Cathcart’s, said to himself, “The sooner that beggar shoots or hangs himself the better.”
He went straight to his sister. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and, with a look she had never yet seen on his face, said in a cold, contemptuous manner:
“Eugenia, I have been taking some trouble on your behalf. To-day two things are going to happen which will settle your future. Norgate will be here presently and ask you to be his wife. By the next post you will get a letter from that stone-cutter. Before you answer it, shut yourself up and think until you are in a proper frame of mind. Women are fools, but surely you can’t be the biggest among them.”