It is a relief to the truly jealous mind to
indulge in plurals. Thatcher liked to think that she was already beset
by hundreds of brothers.
He still kept staring at the picture. By and by it faded away in part,
and a very vivid recollection of the misty, midnight, moonlit walk he
had once taken with her came back, and refilled the canvas with its
magic. He saw the ruined furnace; the dark, overhanging masses of rock,
the trembling intricacies of foliage, and, above all, the flash of dark
eyes under a mantilla at his shoulder. What a fool he had been! Had he
not really been as senseless and stupid as this very Concho, lying
here like a log? And she had loved that man. What a fool she must have
thought him that evening! What a snob she must think him now!
He was startled by a slight rustling in the passage, that ceased almost
as he turned. Thatcher looked towards the door of the outer office, as
if half expecting that the Lord Chancellor, like the commander in Don
Juan, might have accepted his thoughtless invitation.
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