Could it be, that he entertained affection for Valérie himself? Or was it that their conversation that morning had brought back to his memory thoughts of the lost woman who, although his friend, assistant, and critic, was not his mistress? He had spoken very little of her, with the exception of describing the strange circumstances in which she disappeared. Still, any mention of her seemed to cause him sorrowful reflections.
Walking to a side-table whereon stood a bottle of champagne and some glasses, Hugh uncorked the wine, at the same time touching the gong.
In answer to the summons old Jacob appeared. He wore a large wedding-favour, and his scanty hair was parted and brushed with unusual care.
Having filled three glasses, his master turned to him, saying—
“Take a glass with us, Jacob, to celebrate the event. Come, Jack, here you are. It’s no innovation to drink with a servant like my trusty old fossil here!”
The artist took the glass, and, as he did so, Hugh, holding up his own, gave the toast.
“Here’s to the last hour of bachelorhood.”
“Long life and prosperity to Hugh Trethowen!” Egerton exclaimed.
“And may they always lead happy lives!” added the old servant, in a weak broken voice.
“Hurrah! Let’s hope so,” remarked the bridegroom, and the trio tossed off their wine.