John Eames had passed Mrs Thorne in the hall of her own house almost without noticing her as he took his departure from Lily Dale. She had told him as plainly as words could speak that she could not bring herself to be his wife--and he had believed her. He had sworn to himself that if he did not succeed he would never ask again. 'It would be foolish and unmanly to do so,' he said to himself as he rushed along the street towards his club. No! That romance was over. At last there had come an end to it! 'It has taken a good bit out of me,' he said, arresting his steps suddenly that he might stand still and think of it all. 'By George, yes! A man doesn't go through that kind of thing without losing some of the caloric. I couldn't do it again if an angel came in my way.' he went to his club, and tried to be jolly. But as he walked home at night, and gave himself time to think over what had taken place with deliberation, he stopped in the gloom of a deserted street and leaning against the rails burst into tears. He had really loved her and she was never to be his. He had wanted her--and it is so painful a thing to miss what you want when you have done your very best to obtain it! To struggle in vain always hurts the pride; but the wound made by the vain struggle for a woman is sorer than any wound so made. He gnashed his teeth, and struck the railings with his stick; and then he hurried home, swearing that he would never give another thought to Lily Dale. In the dead of the night, thinking of it still, he asked himself whether it would not be a fine thing to wait another ten years, and then go to her again. In such a way would he not make himself immortal as a lover beyond any Jacob or Leander?
The next day he went to his office and was very grave. When Sir Raffle complimented him on being back before his time, he simply said that when he had accomplished that for which he had gone, he had, of course, come back. Sir Raffle could not get a word out from him about Mr Crawley. He was very grave, and intent upon his work. Indeed he was so serious that he quite afflicted Sir Raffle--whose mock activity felt itself to be confounded by the official zeal of his private secretary. During the whole of that day, Johnny was resolving that there could be no cure for his malady but hard work. He would not only work hard at the office if he remained there, but he would take to heavy reading. He rather thought that he would go deep into Greek and do a translation, or take up the exact sciences and make a name for himself in that way. But as he had enough for the life of a secluded literary man without his salary, he rather thought he would give up his office altogether. He had a mutton chop at home that evening, and spent his time in endeavouring to read out aloud to himself certain passages from the Iliad--for he had bought a Homer as he returned from his office. At nine o'clock he went, half-price, to the Strand Theatre. How he met there his old friend Boulger and went afterwards to 'The Cock' and had a supper need not here be told with more accurate detail.
On the evening of the next day he was bound by his appointment to go to Porchester Terrace. In the moments of his enthusiasm about Homer he had declared to himself that he would never go near Miss Demolines again.
Why should he? All that kind of thing was nothing to him now. He would simply send her his compliments and say that he was prevented by business from keeping his engagement. She, of course, would go on writing to him for a time, but he would simply leave her letters unanswered, and the thing, of course, would come to an end at last. He afterwards said something to Boulger about Miss Demolines--but that was during the jollity of their supper--and he then declared that he would follow out that little game. 'I don't see why a fellow isn't to amuse himself, eh, Boulger, old boy?' Boulger winked and grinned, and said some amusements were dangerous. 'I don't think that there is any danger there,' said Johnny. 'I don't believe she is thinking of that kind of thing herself;--not with me at least. What she likes is the pretence of mystery; and as it is amusing I don't see why a fellow shouldn't indulge her.' But that determination was pronounced after two mutton chops at 'The Cock', between one and two o'clock in the morning. On the next day he was cooler and wiser. Greek he thought might be tedious as he discovered that he would have to begin again from the very alphabet. He would therefore abandon that idea. Greek was not the thing for him, but he would take up the sanitary condition of the poor in London. A fellow could be of some use in that way. In the meantime he would keep his appointment with Miss Demolines, simply because it was an appointment. Agentleman should always his word to a lady!
He did keep his appointment with Miss Demolines, and was with her almost precisely at the hour she had named. She received him with a mysterious tranquillity which almost perplexed him. He remembered, however, that the way to enjoy the society of Miss Demolines was to take her in all her moods with perfect seriousness, and was therefore very tranquil himself. On the present occasion she did not rise as she entered the room, and hardly spoke as she tendered to him the tips of her fingers to be touched. As she said almost nothing, he said nothing at all, but sank into a chair and stretched his legs out comfortably before him. It had been always understood between them that she was to bear the burden of the conversation.
'You'll have a cup of tea?' she said.
'Yes;--if you do.' Then the page brought the tea, and John Eames amused himself by swallowing three slices of very thin bread and butter.
'Non for me--thanks,' said Madalina. 'I rarely eat after dinner, and not often much then. I fancy that I should best like a world in which there was no eating.'
