When she had told him what she would do for him to make his
home happy, it had seemed to him that all other delights must fade
away from him for ever. How odious were Tifto and his racehorses,
how unmeaning the noise of his club, how terrible the tedium of
those parliamentary benches! He could not tell his love as she
had told hers! He acknowledged to himself that his words could
not be as her words,--nor his intellect as hers. But his heart
could be as true. She had spoken to him of his name, his rank, and
all his outside world around him. He would make her understand at
last that there were nothing to him in comparison with her. When
he had got round to Hyde Park Corner, he felt that he was almost
compelled to go back again to Brook Street. In no other place
could there be anything to interest him;--nowhere else could there
be light, or warmth, or joy! But what would she think of him? To
go back hot, and soiled with mud, in order that he might say one
more adieu,--that possibly he might ravish one more kiss,--would
hardly be manly.
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