He had determined to rise to the top upon the
wave of class hatred which he had been clever enough to create, and he
neither knew nor cared to what state of devastation he might bring the
country. He was a fitting mate in every way for Cecilia Cricklander, and
completely equipped to play with her at her own game.
So, when they met in her sitting-room in the Florentine hotel, each
experienced a pleasurable emotion.
His was tempered--or augmented--by a blunt and sufficiently brutal
passion, which only the ideal of circumspect outward conduct which
dominates the non-conformist lower middle classes, from which he had
sprung, kept him from demonstrating, by seizing his desired prize in his
arms.
He was frankly in love, and meant to leave no stone unturned to oust
John Derringham from his position as _fiance_ of the lady--John
Derringham, whom he hated from the innermost core of his heart!
Mrs. Cricklander fenced with him admirably. She did not need Arabella's
coachings in her dealings with him; he was quite uncultured, and
infinitely more appreciated what her old father had been used to call
her "horse sense" than he would have done her finest rhapsody upon
Nietzsche.
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