en Colonel Osborne learned that Louis Trevelyan had broken up his
establishment in Curzon Street, and had sent his wife away into a
barbarous retirement in Dartmoor,--for such was the nature of the
information on the subject which was spread among Trevelyan's friends
in London;--and when he was made aware also that all this was done
on his account,--because he was so closely intimate with Trevelyan's
wife, and because Trevelyan's wife was, and persisted in continuing
to be, so closely intimate with him,--his vanity was gratified.
Although it might be true,--and no doubt was true,--that he said much
to his friends and to himself of the deep sorrow which he felt that
such a trouble should befall his old friend and his old friend's
daughter; nevertheless, as he curled his grey whiskers before the
glass, and made the most of such remnant of hair as was left on
the top of his head, as he looked to the padding of his coat, and
completed a study of the wrinkles beneath his eyes, so that in
conversation they might be as little apparent as possible, he felt
more of pleasure than of pain in regard to the whole affair. It was
very sad that it should be so, but it was human. Had it been in his
power to set the whole matter right by a word, he would probably have
spoken that word; but as this was not possible, as Trevelyan had in
his opinion made a gross fool of himself, as Emily Trevelyan was
very nice, and not the less nice in that she certainly was fond
of himself, as great tyranny had been used towards her, and as he
himself had still the plea of old family friendship to protect his
conscience,--to protect his conscience unless he went so far as to
make that plea an additional sting to his conscience,--he thought
that, as a man, he must follow up the matter. Here was a young, and
fashionable, and very pretty woman banished to the wilds of Dartmoor
for his sake. And, as far as he could understand, she would not have
been so banished had she consented to say that she would give up
her acquaintance with him. In such circumstances as these was it
possible that he should do nothing? Various ideas ran through his
head. He began to think that if Trevelyan were out of the way, he
might,--might perhaps be almost tempted to make this woman his wife.
She was so nice that he almost thought that he might be rash enough
for that, although he knew well the satisfaction of being a bachelor;
but as the thought suggested itself to him, he was well