"And I to weep!" Mr. Bosengate laughed--she had a pretty wit! And
stroking his comely moustache where it had been kissed, he moved
out into the sunshine. All the evening, throughout his labours, not
inconsiderable, for this jury business had put him behind time, he was
afflicted by that restless pleasure in his surroundings; would break off
in mowing the lower lawn to look at the house through the trees; would
leave his study and committee papers, to cross into the drawing-room
and sniff its dainty fragrance; paid a special good-night visit to the
children having supper in the schoolroom; pottered in and out from his
dressing room to admire his wife while she was changing for dinner;
dined with his mind perpetually on the next course; talked volubly of
the war; and in the billiard room afterwards, smoking the pipe which had
taken the place of his cigar, could not keep still, but roamed about,
now in conservatory, now in the drawing-room, where his wife and the
governess were still making swabs. It seemed to him that he could not
have enough of anything. About eleven o'clock he strolled out beautiful
night, only just dark enough--under the new arrangement with Time--and
went down to the little round fountain below the terrace.
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