He discerned what
May had said to Quisante--although not of course that she had said
it--and it filled him with a more unendurable revolt. He might have
tolerated a defeat in love; not to be defeated and yet to suffer all the
pains of the vanquished was not to be borne. But he was helpless, and
when he had tried to plead his cause he had done himself no good. He had
rather so conducted himself as to give May Gaston the right to shut the
door on any further friendship with him; towards her future husband he
had never varied from an attitude of cool disdain. It was more than a
month since he had seen her, it was longer since he had done more than
nod carelessly to Quisante as they passed one another in the lobby or the
smoking-room.
Then one day, a fortnight before the marriage, he met Quisante as they
were both leaving the House about four o'clock. On a sudden impulse he
joined his rival. He knew his man; Quisante received him with
friendliness and even effusion, and invited him to join him in a call at
Lady Attlebridge's. They went on together, Quisante elated at this new
evidence of his power to reconcile opposition and conciliate support,
Marchmont filled with a vague painful curiosity and a desire to see the
two together at the cost of any suffering the sight might bring him.
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