The magnitude of the concerns, the admirable stoicism with which he
received alarming news, his dry humour while they waited between
messages--all were so unlike anything the telegraph-clerk had ever seen,
or imagined, that the thing was like a preposterous dream. Even when, at
last, a telegram came which the clerk vaguely felt was, somehow, like the
fall of an empire, Mr. Vandewaters remained unmoved. Then he sent one
more telegram, gave the clerk a pound, asked that the reply be sent to
him as soon as it came, and went away, calmly smoking his cigar.
It was a mild night. When he got to the house he found some of the guests
walking on the veranda. He joined them; but Miss Raglan was not with
them; nor were Lady Lawless and Mr. Pride. He wanted to see all three,
and so he went into the house. There was no one in the drawing-room. He
reached the library in time to hear Lady Lawless say to Mr. Pride, who
was disappearing through another door: "You had better ask advice of Mr.
Vandewaters."
The door closed. Mr. Vandewaters stepped forward.
He understood the situation. "I guess I know how to advise him, Lady
Lawless," he said.
She turned on him quietly, traces of hauteur in her manner. Her
self-pride had been hurt. "You have heard?" she asked.
"Only your last words, Lady Lawless. They were enough. I feel guilty in
having brought him here.
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