He returned to London the same
evening carrying a cargo of philosophical books, from the library, and a
number of novels, though as a rule he never read novels.
The next morning, in a letter to Coryston, he announced his engagement to a
girl of nineteen, an orphan, and a pupil at the Royal College of Music. She
was the daughter of his Cambridge tutor--penniless, pretty, and musical. He
had paid her fees it seemed for several years, and the effect on him of her
charming mezzo-soprano voice, at a recent concert given by the College, had
settled the matter. The philosopher in love, who had been too shy to tell
his brothers _viva voce_, was quite free of tongue in writing; and
Coryston and Arthur, though they laughed, were glad that "old James" had
found the courage to be happy. Coryston remarked to Arthur that it now
remained for him to keep up the blue blood of the family.
"Or Marcia," said Arthur, evading the personal reference.
"Marcia?" Coryston threw his brother an amused, significant look, and said
nothing for a moment. But presently he dropped out:
"Lester writes that he'll be in Rome next week looking after that Borghese
manuscript. He doesn't expect to get back here till May.
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