s the park, he became
sick at heart. How vile, wretched and miserable was the world around
him! How terribly vicious were the people with whom he was dealing! And
what could he think of himself--of himself, who was engaged to Florence
Burton, and engaged also, as he certainly was, to Lady Ongar? Even his
cousin had rebuked him for his treachery to Florence; but what would his
cousin have said had he known all? And then what good had he done; or,
rather, what evil had he not done? In his attempt on behalf of Lady
Clavering, had he not, in truth, interfered without proper excuse, and
fairly laid himself open to anger from his cousin? And he felt that he
had been an ass, a fool, a conceited ass, thinking that he could produce
good, when his interference could be efficacious only for evil. Why
could he not have held his tongue when Sir Hugh came in, instead of
making that vain suggestion as to Lady Clavering? But even this trouble
was but an addition to the great trouble that overwhelmed him. How was
he to escape the position which he had made for himself in reference to
Lady Ongar? As he had left London he had promised to himself that he
would write to her that same night and tell her everything as to
Florence; but the night had passed, and the next day was nearly gone,
and no such letter had been written.

Chapter XXVI

Too Many, And Too Few

As he sat with his father that evening, he told the story of his quarrel
with his cousin. His father shrugged his shoulders and raised his
eyebrows. "You are a bolder man than I am," he said. "I certainly should
not have dared to advise Hugh as to what he should do with his wife."

"But I did not advise him. I only said that I had been talking to her
about it. If he were to say to you that he had been recommending my
mother to do this or that, you would not take it amiss?"

"But Hugh is a peculiar man."

"No man has a right to be peculiar. Every man is bound to accept such
usage as is customary in the world."

"I don't suppose that it will signify much," said the rector. "To have
your cousin's doors barred against you, either here or in London, will
not injure you."

"Oh, no; it will not injure me; but I do not wish you to think that I
have been unreasonable."

The night went by and so did the next day, and still the letter did not
get itself written. On the third morning after the funeral he heard that
Sir Hugh had gone away; but he, of course, did not go up to