Head of the House," and destroyed that, ashamed of
the sting of malice in it. To send it to the post was the work of
another moment. The third found him back at his Blinkhampton plans and
elevations, Cecily's letter lying neglected on the table by him. After
half an hour's work he stopped suddenly, reached for the letter, tore it
into small fragments, and flung the scraps into his waste-paper basket.
Just about the same time Cecily and Mina were getting into the train to
return to Blent.

This returning to Blent was epidemic--not so strange perhaps, since
mid-August was come, and only the people who had to stayed in town.
Harry met Duplay over at Blinkhampton; Duplay was to join his niece at
Merrion in about ten days. He ran against Iver in the street; Iver was
off to Fairholme by the afternoon train; Mr Neeld, he mentioned, was
coming to stay with him for a couple of weeks on Friday. Even
Southend--whom Harry encountered in Whitehall, very hot and
exhausted--cursed London and talked of a run down to Iver's. Blentmouth,
Fairholme, Iver's, Merrion--they all meant Blent. Cecily had gone, and
Mina; the rest were going there--everybody except the man who three
months ago had looked to spend his life there as its master.

And business will grow slack when autumn arrives; it is increasingly
difficult for a man to bury himself in deeds, or plans, or elevations,
or calculations, when everybody writes that he is taking his vacation,
and that the matter shall have immediate attention on his return. Harry
grew terribly tired of this polite formula. He wanted to build
Blinkhampton out of hand, in the months of August and September. The
work would have done him good service. He was seeking a narcotic.

For he was in pain. It came on about a week after he had sent his curt
acknowledgment of Cecily's letter, laying hold of him, he told himself,
just because he had nothing to do, because everybody was taking his
holiday, and Blinkhampton would not get itself bought, and sold, and
contracted for, and planned, and laid out, and built. The politicians
were at it still, for two more hot, weary, sultry weeks, but they were
of little use. Lady Flora had fled to Scotland, Disney was smothered in
arrears of work which must be made up before he got a rest. London was
full of strange faces and outlandish folk. "I must take a holiday
myself," said Harry in a moment of seeming inspiration. Where, where,
where? He suffered under the sensation of