"He'll hear of it soon enough, I dare say, poor, unfortunate young
man," thought Mr. Millard.
The valet was right. In a few days the announcement of the baronet's
marriage appeared in "The Times" newspaper; for, though he had
celebrated that marriage with all privacy, he had no wish to keep his
fair young wife hidden from the world.
"_On Thursday, the 4th instant, at St. Mary's Church, Fulham, Sir
Oswald Morton Vansittart Eversleigh, Bart., to Honoria daughter of the
late Thomas Milford._"
This was all; and this was the announcement which Reginald Eversleigh
read one morning, as he dawdled over his late breakfast, after a night
spent in dissipation and folly. He threw the paper away from him, with
an oath, and hurried to his toilet. He dressed himself with less care
than usual, for to-day he was in a hurry; he wanted at once to
communicate with his friend, Victor Carrington.
The young surgeon lived at the very extremity of the Maida Hill
district, in a cottage, which was then almost in the country. It was a
comfortable little residence; but Reginald Eversleigh looked at it with
supreme contempt.
"You can wait," he said to the hackney coachman; "I shall be here in
about half an hour."
The man drove away to refresh his horses at the nearest inn, and
Reginald Eversleigh strode impatiently past the trim little servant-
girl who opened the garden gate, and walked, unannounced, into the
miniature hall.
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