Then had come the news of her marriage.

From that moment he had known no peace. At first he had wildly fancied
that this had happened because he had not come to her and more plainly
declared himself; his picture of her idea of him was confused with all
the dramatic untruth of _his_ idea of her; then, interchanging with
that, had come moods when he had seen things more plainly as they were
and had told himself that all relations between herself and him had been
invented by himself, that any kindness that she had shown him had been
kindness sprung from pity.

During the early months of the autumn Rachel and her husband were
abroad, and during this time, Breton told himself that he was waiting
for her return before taking any action. Then a certain Mrs. Pont, a
lady whose beauty had been increased but her reputation lessened by
several scandals and a tiresomely querulous Mr. Pont, had suggested to
Francis Breton a continuation of certain earlier relationships.

He knew himself well enough to be sure that one evening in Mrs. Pont's
company would put an end to his struggles, so weak was he in his own
knowledge that the only possible evading of a conflict was by the denial
of the enemy's very existence.

He denied Mrs. Pont and, throughout those dark gloomy autumn weeks,
clinging to Christopher and Lizzie Rand, waited to hear of Rachel's
return.

Although he would confess it to no man alive, he longed now, with an
aching heart, for some sort of reconciliation with the family. He would
have astonished them with his humility had they given him any sign or
signal. He fancied that Lord John or even the Duke might come.... Once
admitted to his proper rank again and what a citizen he would be! Vanish
for ever Mrs. Pont and her tribe and all that dark underworld that
waited, like some sluggish but confident monster, for his inevitable
descent. Wild phantasmic plans crossed his brain every hour of every
day--nothing came of it all; only when at last it was announced that
Sir Roderick and Lady Seddon had returned to England he discovered that
he had nothing to do, nothing to say, no step to take.

That return had been at the end of October; from then until the end of
November he waited, expecting that she would write to him; still, by
this anticipation, were Mrs. Pont and Mrs. Pont's world kept at bay.

No word came. Driven now to take some step that would shatter this
silence, he wrote to her a long letter about nothing v