His day had been spent in interviews and letter-
writing; fifty people had been to see him at his rooms, and he had
dispatched more than that number of letters. At five o'clock he had
slipped out with the intention of dining at his club before any one else
was there, but he had met Mrs. Wyndham in the street, and had spent his
dinner-hour with her. At half-past six he had another appointment in his
rooms, and it was not till nearly eleven that he was able to get away and
look in upon the party, when he met Joe. For a week this kind of life
would probably last, and then all would be over, in one way or another,
but meanwhile the excitement was intense.
On the next day Ronald came to see Joe before ten o'clock. The time hung
heavily on his hands, and he found it impossible to occupy himself with
his troubles. There were moments when the first impression of
disappointment returned upon him very strongly, but he was conscious of a
curious duplicity about his feelings, and he knew well enough in his
inmost heart that he was only evoking a fictitious regret out of respect
for what he thought he ought to feel.
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