A little while afterwards Gaston sat in his room, turning over events
in his mind. Time and again his thoughts returned to the one thing--
marriage. That marriage with his Esquimaux wife had been in one sense
none at all, for the end was sure from the beginning. It was in keeping
with his youth, the circumstances, the life, it had no responsibilities.
But this? To become an integral part of the life--the English country
gentleman; to be reduced, diluted, to the needs of the convention, and no
more? Let him think of the details:--a justice of the peace: to sit on a
board of directors; to be, perhaps, Master of the Hounds; to unite with
the Bishop in restoring the cathedral; to make an address at the annual
flower show. His wife to open bazaars, give tennis-parties, and be
patron to the clergy; himself at last, no doubt, to go into Parliament;
to feel the petty, or serious, responsibilities of a husband and a
landlord. Monotony, extreme decorum, civility to the world; endless
politeness to his wife; with boys at Eton and girls somewhere else; and
the kind of man he must be to do his duty in all and to all!

It seemed impossible. He rose and paced the floor. Never till this
moment had the full picture of his new life come close. He felt stifled.
He put on a cap, and, descending the stairs, went out into the court-yard
and walked about, the cool air refreshing him. Gradually there settled
upon him a stoic acceptance of the conditions. But would it last?

He stood still and looked at the pile of buildings before him; then he
turned towards the little church close by, whose spire and roof could be
seen above the wall. He waved his hand, as when within it on the day of
his coming, and said with irony:

"Now for the marriage-linen, Sir Gaston!"