And his refusal either to dine at the castle or to
join the sportsmen during the day was so prompt and so emphatic that
Babbacombe had refrained from pressing his invitation.
Not a word had passed between them upon the subject of Cynthia's
recognition. West adhered strictly to business during his brief
interviews with his chief. The smallest digression on Babbacombe's part
he invariably ignored as unworthy of his attention, till even
Babbacombe, with all his courtly consideration for others, began to
regard him as a mere automaton, and almost to treat him as such.
Had he realised in the faintest degree what West was enduring at that
time, his heart must have warmed to the man, despite his repellent
exterior. But he had no means of realising.
The rust of twelve bitter years had corroded the bolts of that closed
door behind which the swindler hid his lonely soul, and it was not in
the power of any man to move them.
So grimly he went his silent way, cynical, as only those can be to whom
the best thing in life has been offered too late; proud, also, after his
curious, iron-clad fashion, refusing sternly to bear a lance again in
that field which had witnessed his dishonour.
He knew very well what those twinkling lights denoted. He could almost
hear the clatter round the tea-table, the witless jests of the
youngsters, the careless laughter of the women, the trivial, merry
nonsense that was weaving another hour of happiness into the golden
skein of happy hours.
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