friend stood still or retrograded, he
aroused dangerous emotions. Glazzard could no longer endure his
presence, hated the sound of his voice, cursed his genial impudence;
yet he did not wish for his final unhappiness--only for a temporary
pulling-down, a wholesome castigation of over-blown pride.

The sound of the rushing wheels affected his thought, kept it on the
one subject, shaped it to a monotony of verbal suggestion. Not a novel
suggestion, by any means; something that his fancy had often played
with; very much, perhaps, as that ingenious criminal spoken of by
Serena amused himself with the picture of a wrecked train long before
he resolved to enjoy the sight in reality.

"Live in the South," Quarrier had urged. "Precisely; in other words:
Keep out of my way. You're a good, simple-hearted fellow, to be sure,
but it was a pity I had to trust you with that secret. Leave England
for a long time."

And why not? Certainly it was good counsel--if it had come from any one
but Denzil Quarrier. Probably he should act upon it after all.

CHAPTER XVII

His rooms were in readiness for him, and whilst the attendant prepared
a light supper, he examined some letters which had arrived that
evening. Two of the envelopes contained pressing invitations--with
reference to accounts rendered and re-rendered; he glanced over the
writing and threw them into the fire. The third missive was more
interesting; it came from a lady of high social position at whose house
he had formerly been a frequent guest. "Why do we never see you?" she
wrote. "They tell me you have passed the winter in England; why should
you avoid your friends who have been condemned to the same endurance? I
am always at home on Thursday."

He held the dainty little note, and mused over it. At one time the
sight of this handwriting had quickened his pulses with a delicious
hope; now it stimulated his gloomy reflections. Such a revival of the
past was very unseasonable.

Before going to bed he wrote several letters. They were announcements
of his coming marriage--brief, carelessly worded, giving as little
information as possible.

The next morning was taken up with business. He saw, among other
people, his friend Stark, the picture-collecting lawyer. Stark had
letters from Polterham which assured him that the Liberals were
confident of victory.

"Confounded pity that Quarrier just got the start of you!" he
exclaimed. "You could have kept that seat for t