Even where a sweet countenance told truth about the
life behind it, how seldom did the bridegroom appreciate what he had
won! For the most part, men who have great good fortune, in
marriage, or in anything else, are incapable of tasting their
success. It is the imaginative being in the crowd below who marvels
and is thrilled.
How was it with Arnold Jacks? Did he understand what had befallen
him? If so, on what gleaming heights did he now live and move! What
rapture of gratitude must possess the man! What humility! What
arrogance!
Piers had not met him since the engagement was made known; he hoped
not to meet him for a long time. Happily, in this holiday season,
there was no fear of an invitation to Queen's Gate.
Yet the unexpected happened. Early in September, he received a note
from John Jacks, asking him to dine. The writer said that he had
been at the seaside, and was tired of it, and meant to spend a week
or two quietly in London; he was quite alone, so Otway need not
dress.
Reassured by the last sentence of the letter, Piers gladly went; for
he liked to talk with John Jacks, and had a troubled pleasure in the
thought that he might hear something about the approaching marriage.
On his arrival, he was shown into the study, where his host lay on a
sofa. The greeting was cordial, the voice cheery as ever, but as Mr.
Jacks rose he had more of the appearance of old age than Piers had
yet seen in him; he seemed to stand with some difficulty, his face
betokening a body ill at ease.
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