She had killed him. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. He had hurt her. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. "It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. The manager had sketched the girl's character, or rather had interpreted it, from the incidents which had happened since dinner. The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. "Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything. Besides, this is an affair which no one but myself can settle.
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