"
He put on his hat and began to count the barges on the other side, to
banish thought. But it would not be banished, and he fell into the train
again.
"Mair's behaving well; with Christian kindness; but it's bad enough to be
even in _his_ power. There's something in Lord Hartledon he 'can't help
loving,' he writes. Who can? Here am I, giving up circuit--such a thing
as never was heard of--calling him friend still, and losing my rest at
night for him! Poor Val! better he had been the one to die!"
"Please, sir, could you tell us the time?"
The spell was broken, and Mr. Carr took out his watch as he turned his
eyes on a ragged urchin who had called to him from below.
The tide was down; and sundry Arabs were regaling their naked feet in the
mud, sporting and shouting. The evening drew in earlier than they did,
and the sun had already set.
Quitting the garden, Mr. Carr stepped into a hansom, and was conveyed to
Grafton Street. He found Lord Hartledon knitting his brow over a letter.
"Maude is growing vexed in earnest," he began, looking up at Mr. Carr.
"She insists upon knowing the reason that I do not go home to her."
"I don't wonder at it. You ought to do one of two things: go, or--"
"Or what, Carr?"
"You know. Never go home again."
"I wish I was out of the world!" cried the unhappy man.
CHAPTER XXV.
AT HARTLEDON.
"Hartledon,
"I wonder what you _think_ of yourself, Galloping about _Rotten Row_
with women when your wife's _dying_.
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