And I couldn't go on like this, Kitty--even if
this affair of the book could be patched up. The strain's too great."
They were but a yard apart, and yet she seemed to be looking at him
across a gulf.
"You have been so happy in your work!" This time the sob escaped her.
"Oh, don't let's talk about that," he said, abruptly, as he walked away.
"There'll be a certain relief in giving up the impossible. I'll go back
to my books. We can travel, I suppose, and put politics out of our
heads."
"But--you won't resign your seat?"
"No," he said, after a pause--"no. As far as I can see at present, I
sha'n't resign my seat, though my constituents, of course, will be very
sick. But I doubt whether I shall stand again."
Every phrase fell as though with a thud on Kitty's ear. It was the wreck
of a man's life, and she had done it.
"Shall you--shall you go and see Lord Parham?" she asked, after a pause.
"I shall write to him first. I imagine"--he pointed to the letter lying
on the table--"that creature has already sent him the book. Then later I
daresay I shall see him."
She looked up.
"If I wrote and told him it was all my doing, William?--if I grovelled
to him?"
"The responsibility is mine," he said, sternly.
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