It would come out that he had no share
in the property left by his father, and the reason be made known. He
hoped that she might also learn that death had prevented his
father's plan for benefiting him. He hoped it; for in that ease she
might feel compassion. Yet in the same moment he felt that this was
a delusive solace. Pity for a man because he had lost money does not
incline to warmer emotion. The hope was sheer feebleness of spirit.
He spurned it; he desired no one's compassion.
How would Irene regard the fact of his illegitimacy? Not, assuredly,
from Mrs. Otway's point of view; she was a century ahead of that.
Possibly she was capable of dismissing it as indifferent. But he
could not be certain of her freedom from social prejudice. He
remembered the singular shock with which he himself had first learnt
what he was a state of mind quite irrational, but only to be
dismissed with an effort of the trained intelligence. Irene would
undergo the same experience, and it might affect her thought of him
for ever.
Not for one instant did he visit these troubles upon the dead man.
His loyalty to his father was absolute; no thought, or half-thought,
looked towards accusation.
He arrived at his hotel in London late at night, drank a glass of
spirits and went to bed. The sleep he hoped for came immediately,
but lasted only a couple of hours. Suddenly he was wide awake, and a
horror of great darkness enveloped him.
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