Again the months went on, it may almost be said the years, and little
took place worthy of record. Time obliterates as well as soothes; and
Lady Hartledon had almost forgotten the circumstances which had perplexed
and troubled her, for nothing more had come of them.
And Lord Hartledon? But for a certain restlessness, a hectic flush and a
worn frame, betraying that the inward fever was not quenched, a startled
movement if approached or spoken to unexpectedly, it might be thought
that he also was at rest. There were no more anxious visits to Thomas
Carr's chambers; he went about his ordinary duties, sat out his hours
in the House of Lords, and did as other men. There was nothing very
obvious to betray mental apprehension; and Maude had certainly dismissed
the past, so far, from her mind.
Not again had Val gone down to Hartledon. With the exception of that
short visit of a day or two, already recorded, he had not been there
since his marriage. He would not go: his wife, though she had her way in
most things, could not induce him to go. She went once or twice, in a
spirit of defiance, it may be said, and meanwhile he remained in
London, or took a short trip to the Continent, as the whim prompted him.
Once they had gone abroad together, and remained for some months; taking
servants and the children, for there were two children now; and the
little fellow who had clasped the finger of Mr.
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