u did before."

"Never fear. I'm as sober as a judge now. Come along. Away with
melancholy! Youll have Douglas for a brother-in-law before this time
next year."

This seemed to have been in the clergyman's mind; for he shook hands
with his host more distantly than usual. When they were gone, Conolly
went to the laboratory, and rang for his neglected dinner, which he ate
with all a traveller's appetite. From the dinner table he went straight
to the organ, and played until a little before midnight, when, after a
brief turn in the open air, he retired to bed, and was soon quietly
asleep.

BOOK IV

CHAPTER XVIII

Miss McQuinch spent Christmas morning in her sitting-room reading; a
letter which had come by the morning post. It was dated the 17th
December at New York: and the formal beginning and ending were omitted.
This was an old custom between Marian and her cousin. In their girlish
correspondence they had expressed their affection by such modes of
address as "My darling Marian," and "My dearest Nelly." Subsequently
they became oppressed by these ceremonies and dropped them. Thereafter
their letters contained only the matter to be communicated and the
signature.

"You are the only person in England," wrote Marian, "to whom I dare
write now. A month ago I had more correspondents than I had time to
answer. Do you know, Nelly, I hesitated before commencing this letter,
lest you should no longer care to have anything to do with me. That may
have been an unworthy thought for a friend: but it was an unavoidable
one for a woman.

"And now comes the great vain question: What does everybody say? Oh, if
I could only disembody myself; fly back to London for a few hours; and
listen invisibly to society talking about me. I know this is mean: but
one must fill up life with some mean curiosities. So please tell me what
kind of sensation I have caused. Just the usual one. I suppose. Half the
people never would have thought it; and the other half knew all along
what it would come to. Well, I do not care much about the world in
general; but I cannot quiet my conscience on the subject of my father
and George. It must be very hard on papa that, after being disappointed
in my marriage and having suffered long ago from what my mother did, he
should now be disgraced by his daughter. For disgraced, alas! is the
word. I am afraid poor George's prospects must be spoiled by the
scandal, which, I know well, must be terrible.