Scotsman; he knew that there were some things best not inquired into,
and that men must have their bad hours alone. He glanced at the brandy
debatingly, but presently turned and left the room in silence. In his
own mind, however, he wished he might have taken the brandy without being
discourteous. Armour had discovered Miss Sherwood's letter. Before he
opened it he took a little more brandy. Then he sat down and read it
deliberately. The liquor had steadied him. The fingers of one hand even
drummed on the table. But the face was drawn, the eyes were hard, and
the look of him was altogether pinched. After he had finished this, he
looked for others from the same hand. He found none. Then he picked out
those from his mother and father. He read them grimly. Once he paused
as he read his mother's letter, and took a gulp of plain brandy. There
was something very like a sneer on his face when he finished reading.
He read the hollowness of the sympathy extended to him; he understood the
far from adroit references to Lady Agnes Martling. He was very bitter.
He opened no more letters, but took up the Morning Post again, and read
it slowly through. The look of his face was not pleasant. There was a
small looking-glass opposite him. He caught sight of himself in it.
He drew his hand across his eyes and forehead, as though he was in a
miserable dream. He looked again; he could not recognise himself.

He then bundled the letters and papers into his despatch-box. His
attention was drawn to one letter. He picked it up. It was from
Richard. He started to break the seal, but paused. The strain of the
event was too much; he winced. He determined not to read it then, to
wait until he had recovered himself. He laughed now painfully. It had
been better for him--it had, maybe, averted what people were used to
term his tragedy--had he read his brother's letter at that moment.
For Richard Armour was a sensible man, notwithstanding his peculiarities;
and perhaps the most sensible words he ever wrote were in that letter