He did not stay much longer.  When he took his leave, it would have seemed natural if Franks had come out to walk a little way with him, but his friend bore him company only to the door.

“Let us see you as often as possible, old man.  I hope you’ll often come and lunch on Sunday; nothing could please us better.”

Franks’ handgrip was very cordial, the look and tone were affectionate, but Will said to himself that the old intimacy was at an end; it must now give place to mere acquaintanceship.  He suspected that Franks was afraid to come out and walk with him, afraid that it might not please his wife.  That Rosamund was to rule —­very sweetly of course, but unmistakably—­no one could doubt who saw the two together for five minutes.  It would be, in all likelihood, a happy subjugation, for Norbert was of anything but a rebellious temper; his bonds would be of silk; the rewards of his docility would be such as many a self-assertive man might envy.  But when Warburton tried to imagine himself in such a position, a choked laugh of humourous disdain heaved his chest.

He wandered homewards in a dream.  He relived those moments on the Embankment at Chelsea, when his common sense, his reason, his true emotions, were defeated by an impulse now scarcely intelligible; he saw himself shot across Europe, like a parcel despatched by express; and all that fury and rush meaningless as buffoonery at a pantomime!  Yet this was how the vast majority of men “fell in love”—­if ever they did so at all.  This was the prelude to marriages innumerable, marriages destined to be dull as ditchwater or sour as verjuice.  In love, forsooth!  Rosamund at all events knew the value of that, and had saved him from his own infatuation.  He owed her a lifelong gratitude.

That evening he re-read a long letter from Jane which had reached him yesterday.  His sister gave him a full description of the new home in Suffolk, and told of the arrangement she had made with Miss Winter, whereby, in a twelvemonth, she would be able to begin earning a little money, and, if all went well, before long would become self-supporting.  Could he not run down to see them?  Their mother had borne the removal remarkably well, and seemed, indeed, to have a new vigour; possibly the air might suit her better than at The Haws.  Will mused over this, but had no mind to make the journey just yet.  It would be a pain to him to see his mother in that new place; it would shame him to see his sister at work, and to think that all this change was on his account.  So he wrote to mother and sister, with more of expressed tenderness than usual, begging them to let him put off his visit yet a few weeks.  Presently they would be more settled.  But of one thing let them be sure; his daily work was no burden whatever to him, and he hardly knew whether he would care to change it for what was called the greater respectability of labour in an office.  His health was good; his spirits could only be disturbed by ill news from those he loved.  He promised that at all events he would spend Christmas with them.