BOOK VII. TWO TEMPTATIONS.
64. CHAPTER LXIV.
(continued)
He was so much cheered that he began to search for an account
of experiments which he had long ago meant to look up, and had
neglected out of that creeping self-despair which comes in the train
of petty anxieties. He felt again some of the old delightful
absorption in a far-reaching inquiry, while Rosamond played the
quiet music which was as helpful to his meditation as the plash
of an oar on the evening lake. It was rather late; he had pushed
away all the books, and was looking at the fire with his hands
clasped behind his head in forgetfulness of everything except the
construction of a new controlling experiment, when Rosamond, who
had left the piano and was leaning back in her chair watching him, said--
"Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house already."
Lydgate, startled and jarred, looked up in silence for a moment,
like a man who has been disturbed in his sleep. Then flushing
with an unpleasant consciousness, he asked--
"How do you know?"
"I called at Mrs. Plymdale's this morning, and she told me that he
had taken the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's."
Lydgate was silent. He drew his hands from behind his head and
pressed them against the hair which was hanging, as it was apt to do,
in a mass on his forehead, while he rested his elbows on his knees.
He was feeling bitter disappointment, as if he had opened
a door out of a suffocating place and had found it walled up;
but he also felt sure that Rosamond was pleased with the cause of
his disappointment. He preferred not looking at her and not speaking,
until he had got over the first spasm of vexation. After all,
he said in his bitterness, what can a woman care about so much
as house and furniture? a husband without them is an absurdity.
When he looked up and pushed his hair aside, his dark eyes had
a miserable blank non-expectance of sympathy in them, but he
only said, coolly--
"Perhaps some one else may turn up. I told Trumbull to be on
the look-out if he failed with Plymdale."
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