“I am, truly yours,
“Mary Audley.”
He stood looking at it for a long time, and only by an effort could he control the emotion that strove to master him. Then his thoughts travelled to the other, the man who had won her, the man who had got the better of him from the first, who had played the Jacob from the moment of their meeting on the steamer; and a passion of jealousy swept him away. He swore aloud.
Mr. Colet leapt in his chair. “Mr. Basset!” he cried. And then, in a different tone, “You have bad news, I fear?”
The other laughed bitterly. “Bad news?” he repeated, and Colet saw that his face was white and that the letter shook in his hand. “The Government’s out, and that’s bad news. The pig’s ill, and that’s bad news. Your mother’s dead, and that’s bad news!”
“Swearing makes no news better,” Colet said mildly.
“Not even the pig? If your—if Etruria died, and some one told you that she was dead, you wouldn’t swear? You wouldn’t curse God?”
“God forbid!” the clergyman cried in horror.
“What would you do then?”
“Try so to live, Mr. Basset, that we might meet again!”