It was with dismay that Evelyn heard this, but how could she resist the power of his weakness and fallen estate? He had his chair drawn up in front of the one she had taken, very near her, and with a gesture dismissed his servant, who went and took up his position with his back against a tree, and his eyes upon the master who was also his patient. The sight of this reminder of his extreme weakness and precarious condition was almost more than Evelyn’s nerves could bear.
“We are a wonderful contrast, you and I,” he said; “you so young and fair, just entering upon life, and I leaving it, a decrepid old man.”
“You know,” she said, “that I am not young and fair any more than you are old. I am grieved to see you so ill; but I hope——”
“There is no room for hope. To go on like this for many years, which they say is possible, is not much worth hoping for, is it? Still, I would bear it for various reasons. But I am not likely to be tried. I am a wreck—and my wife only lived two years—I suppose you knew that.”
“I had heard that Mrs. Saumarez died.”
“Yes—I’d have come to you for consolation had I dared.”
“It was better not,” said Evelyn, while a subdued flash of indignation shot out much against her will from her downcast eyes.
“That was what I thought. When a thing does not succeed at first it is better not to try to get fire out of the ashes,” he said didactically; “but between us two, there is no difficulty in seeing which has the best of it. I should like to call and make Mr. Rowland’s acquaintance. But you see the plight in which I am. It is almost impossible for me to get up a stair——”
“My husband—does not mean to remain in London,” she said hurriedly. “We are going to Scotland at once.”
“To a place he has bought, I suppose? I hear that he has a great fortune—and I am most heartily glad of it for your sake.”