The critical
were mostly absent; and besides, shut up all day in his studio, how
should he ever meet them? It was the place in the world where he felt
furthest away from his constituents. That was a part of the
pleasure--the consciousness that for the hour the coast was clear and
his mind independent. His mother and his sister had gone to Broadwood:
Lady Agnes--the phrase sounds brutal but represents his state of
mind--was well out of the way. He had written to her as soon as Julia
left town--he had apprised her of the fact that his wedding-day was
fixed: a relief for poor Lady Agnes to a period of intolerable
mystification, of dark, dumb wondering and watching. She had said her
say the day of the poll at Harsh; she was too proud to ask and too
discreet to "nag"; so she could only wait for something that didn't
come. The unconditioned loan of Broadwood had of course been something
of a bribe to patience: she had at first felt that on the day she should
take possession of that capital house Julia would indeed seem to have
entered the family. But the gift had confirmed expectations just enough
to make disappointment more bitter; and the discomfort was greater in
proportion as she failed to discover what was the matter. Her daughter
Grace was much occupied with this question, and brought it up for
discussion in a manner irritating to her ladyship, who had a high theory
of being silent about it, but who, however, in the long run, was more
unhappy when, in consequence of a reprimand, the girl suggested no
reasons at all than when she suggested stupid ones. It eased Lady Agnes
a little to advert to the mystery when she could have the air of not
having begun.

The letter Nick received from her the first day of Passion Week in reply
to his important communication was the only one he read at that moment;
not counting of course the several notes Mrs. Dallow addressed to him
from Griffin. There were letters piled up, as he knew, in Calcutta
Gardens, which his servant had strict orders not to bring to the studio.
Nick slept now in the bedroom attached to this retreat; got things, as
he wanted them, from Calcutta Gardens; and dined at his club, where a
stray surviving friend or two, seeing him prowl about the library in the
evening, was free to impute to such eccentricity some subtly political
basis. When he thought of his neglected letters he remembered Mr.
Carteret's convictions on the subject of not "getting behind"; they made
h