I submitted patiently to my martyrdom (it is
surely nothing less than martyrdom to a man of cosmopolitan sympathies,
to absorb in silent resignation the news of a country town?) until the
clock on the chimney-piece told me that my visit had been prolonged
beyond half an hour. Having now some right to consider the sacrifice as
complete, I rose to take leave. As we shook hands, Mr. Candy reverted to
the birthday festival of his own accord.
"I am so glad we have met again," he said. "I had it on my mind--I
really had it on my mind, Mr. Blake, to speak to you. About the dinner
at Lady Verinder's, you know? A pleasant dinner--really a pleasant
dinner now, wasn't it?"
On repeating the phrase, he seemed to feel hardly as certain of having
prevented me from suspecting his lapse of memory, as he had felt on
the first occasion. The wistful look clouded his face again: and, after
apparently designing to accompany me to the street door, he suddenly
changed his mind, rang the bell for the servant, and remained in the
drawing-room.
I went slowly down the doctor's stairs, feeling the disheartening
conviction that he really had something to say which it was vitally
important to me to hear, and that he was morally incapable of saying
it.
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