Come, drink--"
CHAPTER VII
CONCERNING THE SONG OF A BLACKBIRD AT EVENING
My uncle Jervas helped me carefully to the armchair by the open
lattice and thereafter stood looking down at me with a certain bleak
austerity of gaze.
"And you still refuse to hold any communication with her, Peregrine?"
"I do, sir."
"Or to afford her the least explanation, notwithstanding her devouring
grief and distress?"
"Sir--I cannot," I answered, and shivered slightly.
"Do you feel the air too much, Peregrine?"
"Thank you, no, sir. But the topic naturally distresses me!"
"Strange," said my uncle Jervas musingly, "very strange that I should
be pleading your gipsy's suit and find you so coldly, mercilessly
determined to make that pleading vain! You are as stubborn as a
Vereker and I think a trifle more merciless. Doubtless the reasons for
your so sudden change are sufficient unto yourself, but to your
friends they are profoundly incomprehensible, nor would I seek to
probe the mystery; you are your own master and judge, and Diana is
rich, has London at her feet, and may wed whomsoever she will, and
small wonder! Indeed, with one exception, she is the most
bewilderingly attractive and altogether beautiful woman I have ever
had the happiness to know. So here's an end of the matter, once and
for all. It is a painful topic, as you say; let us talk of other
things--yourself, for instance. You will be up and about again soon,
what do you propose to do with yourself, Peregrine? Now there is your
friend Vere-Manville playing the devil about town--has not been
entirely sober for a fortnight, I hear--I saw him myself, twice, very
blatantly drunk--"
"Indeed, sir, uncle George mentioned something of this yesterday,
though such conduct in Anthony is quite incomprehensible.
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