Barron said nothing. He came heavily toward the window, and the two men stood looking at each other, overtaken both of them by a mounting wave of consciousness. The events, passions, emotions of the preceding months pressed into memory, and beat against the silence. But it was Meynell who turned pale.
"What a pity—to spoil the fight!" he said in a low voice. "It would have been splendid—to fight it—fair."
"I shall of course withdraw my name from the Arches suit," said Barron, leaning over a chair, his eyes on the ground.
Meynell did not reply. He took up his hat; only saying as he went toward the door:
"Remember—Flaxman holds his hand entirely. The situation is with you." Then, after a moment's hesitation, he added simply, almost shyly—"God help you! Won't you consult your daughter?"
Barron made no answer. The door opened and shut.
BOOK IV
MEYNELL AND MARY
"…. but Life ere long
Came on me in the public ways and bent
Eyes deeper than of old; Death met I too,
And saw the dawn glow through."