Sink or Swim? , Volume III

On his return home, two hours later, and after gleaning all the slender information in his power regarding the proceedings of his enemy, Arthur -- his pocket full of certain ugly-looking letters which he had found to his address at the Travellers' -- was in anything but a quietly-domestic frame of mind. With the exception of Honor -- whose lovely eyes, as he had last seen them, tearful and full of piteous pleading -- the idea of contact with no single human creature with whom he was connected afforded him the slightest pleasure. On the contrary, the thought of his young wife, ready, longing even to throw her weak white arms round his neck, was positively distasteful to him; the prospect of listening to old Dub's paternal twaddle he turned from with disgust; whilst the feeble cry of his one-day old heir-apparent was likely to awaken no responsive feelings in his agitated breast. On the whole, the state of feeling in which Arthur Vavasour found himself on that bright May afternoon may be described as a reckless one. He was soured, discontented, almost despairing. Lines of care were deepening on his brow, and it needed not the fresh blow that awaited him in Hyde-park-terrace to convince Arthur Vavasour that he was doomed to misfortune, and marked out for a large share of the miseries to which flesh is heir.

"A letter that looks like business," Mr. Duberly said, as his son-in-law opened a missive of large dimensions, sealed with a big seal, and altogether portentous of aspect. "From the lawyers," continued the old man, "ain't it?"