Lister's gig to call for him at the cottage, so that he might spend every
possible moment with Marian. And at three o'clock the gig appeared,
driven by Martin Lister himself, and Gilbert was fain to say good-bye.
His last lingering backward glance showed him the white figure under the
walnut-trees, and a little hand waving farewell.
How empty and dreary his comfortable bachelor lodgings seemed to him that
night when he had dined, and sat by the open window smoking his solitary
cigar, listening to the dismal street-noises, and the monotonous roll of
ceaseless wheels yonder in Oxford-street; not caring to go out to his
club, caring still less for opera or theatre, or any of the old ways
whereby he had been wont to dispose of his evenings!
His mind was full of Marian Nowell. All that was grave and earnest in his
nature gave force to this his first love. He had had flirtations in the
past, of course; but they had been no more than flirtations, and at
thirty his heart was as fresh and inexperienced as a boy's. It pleased
him to think of Marian's lonely position. Better, a hundred times better,
that she should be thus, than fettered by ties which might come between
them and perfect union. The faithful and generous protector of her
childhood would of necessity always claim her love; but beyond this one
affection, she would be Gilbert's, and Gilbert's only.
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