His
nature was not simple. It seemed to him again that there might be a
little dinner-party, and that Lady Mountjoy knew all about it.
"Richard," he said to the butler, "go into Mr. Anderson's room and see
if he is very bad." Richard came back, and whispered to the great man
that Anderson was not in his room. "This is very remarkable. A bad
headache, and not in his room! Where is he? I insist on knowing where
Mr. Anderson is!"
"You had better leave him alone," said Lady Mountjoy.
"Leave a man alone because he's ill! He might die."
"Shall I go and see?" said Arbuthnot.
"I wish you would, and bring him in here, if he's well enough to show. I
don't approve of a young man going without his dinner. There's nothing
so bad."
"He'll be sure to get something, Sir Magnus," said Lady Mountjoy. But
Sir Magnus insisted that Mr. Arbuthnot should go and look after his
friend.
It was now November, and at eight o'clock was quite dark, but the
weather was fine, and something of the mildness of autumn remained.
Arbuthnot was not long in discovering that Mr. Anderson was again
walking in the garden. He had left Florence there and had gone to the
house, but had found himself to be utterly desolate and miserable. She
had exacted from him a promise which was not compatible with any kind of
happiness to which he could now look forward.
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