From the day of Clara's
establishment under his roof he thought of her, and of her only.
Whilst working at the filter-factory he remained in imagination by
her side, ceaselessly repeating her words of the night before,
eagerly looking for the hour that would allow him to return to her.
Joy and trouble mingled in an indescribable way to constitute his
ordinary mood; one moment he would laugh at a thought, and before a
companion could glance at him his gladness would be overshadowed as
if with the heaviest anxiety. Men who saw him day after day said at
this time that he seemed to be growing childish; he muttered to
himself a good deal, and looked blankly at you when you addressed
him. In the course of a fortnight his state became more settled, but
it was not the cheerful impulse that predominated. Out of the
multitude of thoughts concerning Clara, one had fixed itself as the
main controller of his reflection. Characteristically, John hit upon
what seemed an irremediable misfortune, and brooded over it with all
his might. If only Sidney Kirkwood were in the same mind as four
years ago!
And now was he to believe that what he had been told about Sidney
and Jane Snowdon was misleading? Was the impossible no longer so? He
almost leapt from his chair when he heard that Sidney was the
visitor with whom his daughter had been having her private
conversation.
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