self-satisfaction, and the tendency to a pleased and relaxed
contemplation of life and one's surroundings, growing out of a
well-to-do state. Such a smarting sense of defeat, of endless aching
loss as filled his mind at this time, was a most exacting background for
his daily achievements in business and money-making to show up against.
He had lost that power of enjoying rest which is at once the reward and
limitation of human endeavour. Work was his nepenthe, and the difference
between poor, superficial work and the best, most absorbing, was simply
that between a weaker and a stronger opiate. He prospered in his affairs,
was promoted to a position of responsibility with a good salary, and,
moreover, was able to dispose of a patent in gun-barrels at a handsome
price.

With the hope of distracting his mind from morbid brooding over what was
past helping, he went into society, and endeavoured to interest himself
in young ladies. But in these efforts his success was indifferent.
Whenever he began to flatter himself that he was gaining a philosophical
calm, the glimpse of some face on the street that reminded him of
Madeline's, an accent of a voice that recalled hers, the sight of her in
a dream, brought back in a moment the old thrall and the old bitterness
with undiminished strength.

Eight or nine months after he had left home the longing to return and see
what had happened became irresistible. Perhaps, after all--

Although this faint glimmer of a doubt was of his own making, and existed
only because he had forbidden Laura to tell him to the contrary, he
actually took some comfort in it. While he did not dare to put the
question to Laura, yet he allowed himself to dream that something might
possibly have happened to break off the match. He was far, indeed, from