..."
And, with his finger on his lip, wrapt in the deepest mystery, he departed
into the rain.
As the door closed behind him, Peter felt a wave of chill, unhappy
loneliness. He turned back into the cheerful little hall and heard Clare
singing upstairs. He knew that they were going to have a delightful little
dinner, that, afterwards, they would be at a party where every one would be
pleased to see them--he knew that the evening in front of him should be
wholly charming ... and yet he was uneasy. He felt now as though he ought
to resign his evening, climb to his little room and work at "The Stone
House." And yet what connection could that possibly have with Mr. Zanti?
His uneasiness had begun, he thought, after his visit to Brockett's. It
seemed to him as he went upstairs to dress that the world was too full of
too many things and that his outlook on it all was confused.
Throughout dinner this uneasiness remained with him. Had he been less
occupied with his own thoughts he would have noticed that Clare was
not herself; at first she talked excitedly without waiting for his
answers--there were her usual enthusiasms and excitements. Everything in
the day's history had been "enchanting" or "horrible," as a rule she waited
for him to act up to her ecstasies and abhorrencies; to-night she talked
as though she had no audience but were determined to fill up time.
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