Renton,--a serene and polished lady with whom he had lived for years
in cold and civil alienation, both seeing as little of each other as
possible. With a scowl of will upon his brow, he received her image
distinctly into his mind, even to the minutia of the dress and ornaments
he knew she wore, and felt an absolutely savage exultation in his
ability to retain it. Then came the sound of the closing of the hall
door and the rattle of receding wheels, and somehow it was Nathalie
and not his wife that he was holding so grimly in his thought, and with
her, salient and vivid as before, the tormenting remembrance of his
tenant, connected with the memory of George Feval. Springing to his
feet, he walked the room.
He had thrown himself on a sofa, still striving to be rid of his
remorseful visitations, when the library door opened, and the inside
man appeared, with his hand held bashfully over his nose. It flashed
on him at once that his tenant's husband was the servant of a family
like this fellow; and, irritated that the whole matter should be thus
broadly forced upon him in another way, he harshly asked him what he
wanted.
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