"
An evil smile curled round the old _roue's_ sensual mouth, radiating
even to the verge of the forest of his iron-gray whiskers.
"Clanronald not clever?" he replied. "The cleverest man I know. He knew
how his wife would be tempted, and he has taken the greatest pains to
encourage a counteracting influence--family pride. Don't you know she is
a Hautagne? It is a tradition with that race that their women never go
wrong--under a prince of the blood. None of these are available just
now, so she is still '_Une Madeleine, dans la puissance de son mari, et
dans l'impuissance de se repentir_.'"
It was worse than useless to argue with Fallowfield. All your own best
hits were turned aside by the target of his cynicism and unbelief, while
his sophistries and sarcasms often came home. Like old wounds, they
would begin to shoot and rankle in after years, just when it was most
important and profitable to forget them.
We separated soon after this. Sir Henry's face wore an expression of
placid self-congratulation. He thought the conversation had been rather
improving, I believe, and that some of the ideas and illustrations had
been rather neatly put; so he laid his head down that night with the
calm, satisfied feeling of a good man who has done his duty and not lost
a day.
Pages:
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134