"
For accepting the strokes of fate we have curiously
trivial demonstrations. Lorne met Hesketh's eye with the
steadiness of a lion's in his own; the unusual thing he
did was to take his hands out of his pockets and let his
arms hang loosely by his side. It was as tragic a gesture
of helplessness as if he had flung them above his head.
"Dora is going to marry you?"
"I believe she will do me that honour. And I consider it
an honour. Miss Milburn will compare with any English
girl I ever met. But I half expected you to congratulate
me. I know she wrote to you this morning--you were one
of the first."
"I shall probably find the letter," said Lorne mechanically,
"when I go home."
He still eyed Hesketh narrowly, as if he had somewhere
concealed about him the explanation of this final bitter
circumstance. He had a desire not to leave him, to stand
and parley--to go upstairs to the office would be to
plunge into the gulf. He held back from that and leaned
against the door frame, crossing his arms and looking
over into the market-place for subjects to postpone
Hesketh's departure. They talked of various matters in
sight, Hesketh showing the zest of his newly determined
citizenship in every observation--the extension of the
electric tramway, the pulling down of the old Fire Hall.
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