Windomshire moved about in solitude, gnashing his teeth, while Derby
unceremoniously whisked the dazed Anne off for pleasant walks or held
her at bay in some secluded corner of the parlours. By dinner-time,
encouraged by Joe's wild but cautious applause, he had driven
Windomshire almost to distraction. A thing he did not know, however,--
else his pride might have cringed perceptibly,--was that Anne
Courtenay was growing to hate him as no one was ever hated before.
"Well," he said to the nervous Mr. Dauntless at seven o'clock that
evening, having arrived at what he called the conclusion of his day's
work, "I think I've done all that was expected, haven't I?"
"You've got him crazy, old boy. Look at him! It's the first minute
he's had since half-past two. Say, what do you think of this cursed
weather? It's raining again--and muddy! Great Scot, old man! it's knee
deep, and we don't dare take a carriage to the church. One can't sneak
worth a cent in a cab, you know. See you later! There's Eleanor
waiting to speak to me. By George, I'm nervous. You WON'T fail us, old
man?"
"I'll do my part, Joe," said Derby, smiling.
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