Of course any honourable
woman--any woman with a spark of justice in her heart--would have also
forbidden all intercourse with Lady Maude. The countess-dowager's policy
lay in the opposite direction.
But Lord Hartledon remained in London, utterly oblivious to the hints and
baits held out for his return to Calne. He chiefly divided his time
between the House of Lords and sitting at home, lamenting over his own
ill-starred existence. He was living quite en garcon, with only one man,
his house having been let for the season. We always want what we cannot
obtain, and because marriage was denied him, he fell into the habit of
dwelling upon it as the only boon in life. Thomas Carr was on circuit,
so that Hartledon was alone.
Easter was early that year, the latter end of March. On the Monday in
Passion-week there arrived a telegram for Lord Hartledon sent apparently
by the butler, Hedges. It was vaguely worded; spoke of a railway accident
and somebody dying. Who he could not make out, except that it was a
Kirton: and it prayed him to hasten down immediately. All his goodness of
heart aroused, Val lost not a moment. He had been engaged to spend Easter
with some people in Essex, but dispatched a line of apology, and hastened
down to Calne, wondering whether it was the dowager or Maude, and whether
death would have taken place before his arrival.
"What accident has there been?" he demanded, leaping out of the carriage
at Calne Station; and the man he addressed happened to be the porter,
Jones.
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