Of course, Coleman was wistfully
desirous of proving to himself the truth of this
theory.
The palpable agitation of the professor during the
interview seemed to support it. If he had come on
a mere journey of conscience, he would have hardly
appeared as a white and trembling old, man. But
then, said Coleman, he himself probably exaggerated
this idea of the professor's appearance. It might have
been that he was only sour and distressed over the
performance of a very disagreeable duty.
The correspondent paced his room and smoked.
Sometimes he halted at the little table where was the
brandy and soda. He thought so hard that sometimes
it seemed that Marjory had been to him to propose
marriage, and at other times it seemed that there had
been no visit from any one at all.
A desire to talk to somebody was upon him. He
strolled down stairs and into the smoking and reading
rooms, hoping to see a man he knew, even if it were
Coke. But the only occupants were two strangers,
furiously debating the war. Passing the minister's
room, Coleman saw that there was a light within, and
he could not forbear knocking. He was bidden to
enter, and opened the door upon the minister, care-
fully reading his Spectator fresh from London.
He looked up and seemed very glad. "How are
you?" he cried. "I was tremendously anxious to
see you, do you know! I looked for you to dine
with me to-night, but you were not down?"
"No ; I had a great deal of work.
Pages:
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284