It was Demetrius Hertzen.
“What! you in London?” I cried in genuine surprise, heartily glad to meet him.
“Yes, you left the Dene in such an uncommonly mysterious manner, and Vera is so cut up, that I thought I’d come to town, find you, and prevail upon you to return.”
Linking his arm in mine, he walked in my direction, as he added, “What’s the meaning of all this? Surely you can confide in me, my dear fellow; I am your wife’s cousin.”
I hesitated. Should I tell him? I longed to do so, and was on the verge of disclosing my secret feelings when suddenly I remembered the promise I had made to Vera to wait three weeks for her explanation.
“Well,” I replied endeavouring to smile, but scarcely succeeding, “it is all owing to a few hasty words. Husbands and wives will have little differences sometimes, you know.”
He laughed lightly, and regarding me critically for a moment, said,—
“Ah! I see. A lover’s quarrel, eh? Why don’t you return to Elveham and end all this unpleasantness? It would be far better.”
I felt his advice was well-meant, and from the bottom of my heart I thanked him, yet how could I act upon it? Three long anxious weeks must pass before any explanation.
“No,” I answered, “I’ll remain in London, at least for the present. I don’t know exactly when I shall return.”