Julian was so impatient of the futility of his adventure that he wished to annihilate its existence. On reaching Anglebury he determined to get on at once to Melchester, that the event of the night might be summarily ended; to be still in the neighbourhood was to be still engaged in it. He reached home before midnight.
Walking into their house in a quiet street, as dissatisfied with himself as a man well could be who still retained health and an occupation, he found Faith sitting up as usual. His news was simple: the marriage had taken place before he could get there, and he had seen nothing of either ceremony or viscountess. The remainder he reserved for a more convenient season.
Edith looked anxiously at him as he ate supper, smiling now and then.
‘Well, I am tired of this life,’ said Christopher.
‘So am I,’ said Faith. ‘Ah, if we were only rich!’
‘Ah, yes.’
‘Or if we were not rich,’ she said, turning her eyes to the fire. ‘If we were only slightly provided for, it would be better than nothing. How much would you be content with, Kit?’
‘As much as I could get.’
‘Would you be content with a thousand a year for both of us?’
‘I daresay I should,’ he murmured, breaking his bread.