The least egotistical of men--and Massingbred did not enter into this category--find it occasionally very hard to bear the cool “go-by” the world gives them whenever a chance interval has withdrawn them from public view. The stern truth of how little each atom of the social scheme affects the working of the whole machinery is far from palatable in its personal application. Massingbred was probably sensitive enough on this score, but too consummate a tactician to let any one guess his feelings; and so he lounged down to the “House,” and lolled at his Club, and took his airings in the Park with all the seeming routine of one who had never abdicated these enjoyments for a day.
He had promised, and really meant, to have looked after Martin's affairs on his reaching London; but it was almost a week after his return that he bethought him of his pledge, his attention being then called to the subject by finding on his table the visiting-card of Mr. Maurice Scanlan. Perhaps he was not sorry to have something to do; perhaps he had some compunctions of conscience for his forgetfulness; at all events, he sent his servant at once to Scanlan's hotel, with a request that he would call upon him as early as might be. An answer was speedily returned that Mr. Scanlan was about to start for Ireland that same afternoon, but would wait upon him immediately. The message was scarcely delivered when Scanlan himself appeared.
Dressed in deep mourning, but with an easy complacency of manner that indicated very little of real grief, he threw himself into a chair, saying, “I pledge you my word of honor, it is only to yourself I 'd have come this morning, Mr. Massingbred, for I 'm actually killed with business. No man would believe the letters I've had to read and answer, the documents to examine, the deeds to compare, the papers to investigate--”
“Is the business settled, then--or in train of settlement?” broke in Jack.
“I suppose it _is_ settled,” replied Scanlan, with a slight laugh. “Of course you know Mr. Martin is dead?”
“Dead! Good heavens! When did this occur?”
“We got the news--that is, Merl did--the day before yesterday. A friend of his who had remained at Baden to watch events started the moment he breathed his last, and reached town thirty hours before the mail; not, indeed, that the Captain has yet written a line on the subject to any one.”