Lady Hartledon plunged madly into all the gaieties of the
dying season, as though to make up for lost time; Lord Hartledon never
felt less inclined to plunge into anything, unless it was the waters of
oblivion. He held back from some places, but she did not appear to care,
going her way in a very positive, off-hand manner, according to her own
will, and paying not the slightest deference to his.
CHAPTER XX.
THE STRANGER AGAIN.
On a burning day at the end of June, Lord Hartledon was walking towards
the Temple. He had not yet sought out his friend Thomas Carr; a sense of
shame held him back; but he was on his way to do so now.
Turning down Essex Street and so to the left, he traversed the courts
and windings, and mounted the stairs to the barrister's rooms. Many a
merry hour had he passed in those three small rooms, dignified with the
name of "Mr. Carr's chambers," but which were in fact also Mr. Carr's
dwelling-place--and some sad ones.
Lord Hartledon knocked at the outer door with his stick--a somewhat
faint, doubtful knock; not with the free hand of one at ease with himself
and the world. For one thing, he was uncertain as to the reception he
should meet with.
Mr. Carr came to the door himself; his clerk was out. When he saw who was
his visitor he stood in comic surprise. Val stepped in, extending his
hand; and it was heartily taken.
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