For, as Beatrice had said, Geoffrey Bingham was a man who had success
written on his forehead. It would have been almost impossible for him to
fail in whatever he undertook.
CHAPTER IX
WHAT BEATRICE DREAMED
Geoffrey lay upon his back, watching the still patch of sunshine and
listening to the ticking of the clock, as he passed all these and many
other events in solemn review, till the series culminated in his vivid
recollection of the scene of that very morning.
"I am sick of it," he said at last aloud, "sick and tired. She makes my
life wretched. If it wasn't for Effie upon my word I'd . . . By Jove, it
is three o'clock; I will go and see Miss Granger. She's a woman, not a
female ghost at any rate, though she is a freethinker--which," he added
as he slowly struggled off the couch, "is a very foolish thing to be."
Very shakily, for he was sadly knocked about, Geoffrey hobbled down the
long narrow room and through the door, which was ajar. The opposite door
was also set half open. He knocked softly, and getting no answer pushed
it wide and looked in, thinking that he had, perhaps, made some mistake
as to the room.
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