When he came to this part of the letter, Reginald laid it aside and began to think over the words Una had written.
Yes!--she was quite right--it was better for him in every way to go back to Garsworth, and leave this feverish, unreal existence which he was now leading. He would return once more to the old familiar life, with its gentle simplicity and pleasant delights--the rising in the early grey of the morning, the matutinal run with the dogs across the breezy common--then, later on in the day, he would meet Una, and stroll with her through the quiet village streets, where everyone knew and loved them both, from the ancient grandmother basking in the sunshine to the prattling child tottering after them for notice with unsteady gait. No fog--no dreary rattle of cabs--no hoarse cries of news-boy and fish-vendor--but the bright beautiful, blue sky, with the golden sun shining, and a moist keen wind blowing from the distant fen-lands, filled with strange cold odours stolen from hidden herbs. And in the evening he would sing to her--sing those charming old ballads of Phyllis and Daphne, and Lady Bell--which he had not sung for so many days--or perhaps they would listen to the ponderous conversation of Dr. Larcher, with its classical flavouring of Horace.
The time would pass by in such innocent pleasures upon rapid wings, until their wedding-day came, with the budding leaves in tree and hedge, and the timid out-peeping of delicate spring flowers. Then the genial old vicar would make them man and wife, in the sacred gloom of the familiar church, while the wedding march pealed forth from the organ, and the joy-bells clashed in the ancient Norman tower. Afterwards they would go abroad for some months, and wander through old-world cities, among the treasures of dead ages--returning when they were weary, to lead quiet and useful lives under their own roof-tree, and among the friends of their early days. Yes!--he would go back to Garsworth, and try to realize these delightful dreams, but--Beaumont----
At this moment--as if in answer to his thoughts--a knock came to the door, and Beaumont entered--scattering at once the cloud-built castles in which Reginald's dreamy fancy had been indulging. His quick eye at once saw that the young man had eaten no breakfast--and he laughed gaily as he removed his hat and sat down near the fire.