If he had not been so objectionable, one might
have pitied him. He vapored, and fretted, and fumed, and trotted up and down,
and tried to make himself pleasing in Miss Hollis's big, quiet, gray eyes, and
failed. It was one of the cases that you sometimes meet, even in this country
where we marry by Code, of a really blind attachment all on one side, without
the faintest possibility of return. Miss Hollis looked on Pack as some sort of
vermin running about the road. He had no prospects beyond Captain's pay, and no
wits to help that out by one anna. In a large-sized man, love like his would
have been touching.
In a good man it would have been grand. He being what he was, it was only a
nuisance.
You will believe this much. What you will not believe, is what follows:
Churton, and The Man who Knew that the Bisara was, were lunching at the Simla
Club together. Churton was complaining of life in general. His best mare had
rolled out of stable down the hill and had broken her back; his decisions were
being reversed by the upper Courts, more than an Assistant Commissioner of
eight years' standing has a right to expect; he knew liver and fever, and, for
weeks past, had felt out of sorts. Altogether, he was disgusted and
disheartened.
Pages:
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793