I laughed, as I answered: "Why, I was the man with Lady Mickleham
when your friend and Berry inter--when they arrived, you know."
Well, I should have thought--I should still think--that she would
have been pleased--relieved, you know, to find her uncharitable
opinion erroneous, and pleased to have it altered on the best
authority. I'm sure that is how I should have felt. It was not,
however, how Mrs. Hilary felt.
"I am deeply pained," she observed after a long pause; and then
she held out her hand.
"I was sure you'd forgive my little deception," said I, grasping
it. I thought still that she meant to bury all unkindness.
"I should never have thought it of you," she went on.
"I didn't know your friend was there at all," I pleaded; for by
now I was alarmed.
"Oh, please don't shuffle like that," said Mrs. Hilary.
She continued to stand, and I rose to my feet. Mrs. Hilary held
out her hand again.
"Do you mean that I'm to go?" said I.
"I hope we shall see you again some day," said Mrs. Hilary; the
tone suggested that she was looking forward to some future
existence, when my earthly sins should have been sufficiently
purged. It reminded me for the moment of King Arthur and Queen
Guinevere.
"But I protest," I began, "that my only object in telling you was
to show you how absurd--"
"Is it any good talking about it now?" asked Mrs.
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