Lotte tried to reply. An inarticulate murmur was all that escaped her lips. Her deep emotion did not so easily admit of suppression.
A cab opportunely approached, and Hal engaged it. He lifted Lotte in: she had not power to help herself. He followed her into the vehicle, and gave his directions to the driver.
The man whipped his horse, and the cab rattled away from the bridge.
Lotte thought of the sombre river, whirling on grimly, and she shuddered violently.
“The gloomiest lane, Lotte,” he whispered, “sometimes leads us to the brightest land.”
The same self-love in all becomes the cause
Of what restrains him, government and laws.
For what one likes, if others like as well,
What serves one will, when many wills rebel?
How shall he keep what, sleeping or awake,
Mr. Grahame’s dissertation upon the improvement of land and the general economy and management of estates had been abruptly interrupted by the entrance of his daughter into the room where the guests and family were assembled. His apathetic and somewhat drowsy auditor, the young Duke, immediately on observing the approach of Helen Grahame, with a slight excuse to his host, emancipated himself from the dull topic droned into his ears, and advanced hastily to meet her.
Almost at the same moment, Whelks entered the apartment, with a printed card upon a silver salver. It was _not_ an elegant production--the typography was bold and in effect smudgy, and the general get-up smacked rather loudly of the Seven Dials’ press.
It was dingy, too, and nibbled at the corners, indicating cogitation on the part of the person whom it represented, the pasteboard having been used unconsciously instead of the grimy thumb-nail.
The quick eye of Mr. Grahame caught sight of it almost the instant Whelks crossed the threshold of the door, carrying it very much with the air of one who had a huge slug on a plate, which he was seeking the earliest opportunity to dispose of.
Mr. Grahame’s eyes flashed fire. What could the idiot mean by bringing to him such a dun, drabby bit of card at such a moment. He glared at Whelks, who remained unaffected; his gaze was upon the soiled article he carried, and his reflections far away into the future, resting upon the rosy hour when, liberated from flunkeydom, he should, with Sarah the cook, unite hands and savings, and go into business. It was not, he thought, with such “a hinfamous fustian smelling objek” as that which rested on the silver salver, as though it had no business there, that he should make his business announcement to a British public, bursting with a desire to deal with him. And as he dreamed thus, he reached his master.