'I have come to you, after all,' said Knight. 'My manner was odd
this morning, and it seemed desirable to call; but that you had
too much sense to notice, Stephen, I know. Put it down to my
wanderings in France and Italy.'
'Don't say another word, but sit down. I am only too glad to see
you again.'
Stephen would hardly have cared to tell Knight just then that the
minute before Knight was announced he had been reading over some
old letters of Elfride's. They were not many; and until to-night
had been sealed up, and stowed away in a corner of his leather
trunk, with a few other mementoes and relics which had accompanied
him in his travels. The familiar sights and sounds of London, the
meeting with his friend, had with him also revived that sense of
abiding continuity with regard to Elfride and love which his
absence at the other side of the world had to some extent
suspended, though never ruptured. He at first intended only to
look over these letters on the outside; then he read one; then
another; until the whole was thus re-used as a stimulus to sad
memories. He folded them away again, placed them in his pocket,
and instead of going on with an examination into the state of the
artistic world, had remained musing on the strange circumstance
that he had returned to find Knight not the husband of Elfride
after all.
The possibility of any given gratification begets a cumulative
sense of its necessity.
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