Stocks. They were not prepared
for the silent tragic figure which Wratislaw brought with him.
Arthur had a glint of the truth, but the obtuse George saw nothing. "Do
you know that you are going to have the Wisharts for neighbours for a
couple of months yet? Old Wishart has taken Glenavelin from the end of
August."
This would have been pleasant hearing at another time, but now it simply
drove home the nail of his bitter reflections. Alice would be near him,
a terrible reproach-she, the devotee of strength and competence. He
could not win her, and it is characteristic of the man that he had
ceased to think of Mr. Stocks as his rival. He would lose her to no
rival; to his ragged incapacity alone would his ill fortune be due.
He struggled to act the part of the cheerful host, and Wratislaw watched
his efforts grimly. He ate little at dinner, showed no desire to smoke,
and played billiards so badly that Wratislaw, an execrable player, won
the first and last game of his life. The victor took him out of doors
thereafter to walk on the moonlit, fragrant lawn.
"You are taking things to heart," said he.
"And I'm blessed if I can understand you. To me it's sheer mania."
"And to me it's the last link in a chain. I have suspected myself for
long, now I know myself and-ugh! the knowledge is a hideous thing."
Wratislaw stood regarding his companion seriously.
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