When his thoughts turned hitherwards, Sidney always
pictured the old man sitting in his familiar mood of reverie, and
Jane, in like silence, bending over a book at the table. Peace, the
thing most difficult to find in the world that Sidney knew, had here
made itself a dwelling.
He shook hands with Snowdon and seated himself. A few friendly words
were spoken, and the old man referred to an excursion they had
agreed to make together on the morrow, the general holiday.
'I'm very sorry,' replied Kirkwood, 'but it'll be impossible for me
to go.'
Jane was standing near him; her countenance fell, expressing
uttermost disappointment.
'Something has happened,' pursued Sidney, 'that won't let me go
away, even for a few hours. I don't mean to say that it would really
prevent me, but I should be so uneasy in my mind all the time that I
couldn't enjoy myself, and I should only spoil your pleasure. Of
course you'll go just the same?'
Snowdon reassured him on this point. Jane had just been about to lay
supper; she continued her task, and Sidney made a show of sharing
the meal. Soon after, as if conscious that Sidney would speak with
more freedom of his trouble but for her presence, Jane bade them
good-night and went to her own room.
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