Vibart was not disappointed. In
a dingy office, with a single window looking out on a blank wall, he found
Mr. Carstyle, in an alpaca coat, reading Montaigne.
It evidently did not occur to him that Vibart had come on business, and
the warmth of his welcome gave the young man a sense of furnishing the
last word in a conjugal argument in which, for once, Mr. Carstyle had come
off triumphant.
The legal question disposed of, Vibart reverted to Montaigne: had Mr.
Carstyle seen young So-and-so's volume of essays? There was one on
Montaigne that had a decided flavor: the point of view was curious. Vibart
was surprised to find that Mr. Carstyle had heard of young So-and-so.
Clever young men are given to thinking that their elders have never got
beyond Macaulay; but Mr. Carstyle seemed sufficiently familiar with recent
literature not to take it too seriously. He accepted Vibart's offer of
young So-and-so's volume, admitting that his own library was not exactly
up-to-date.
Vibart went away musing. The next day he came back with the volume of
essays. It seemed to be tacitly understood that he was to call at the
office when he wished to see Mr. Carstyle, whose legal engagements did not
seriously interfere with the pursuit of literature.
For a week or ten days Mrs. Carstyle, in Vibart's presence, continued to
take counsel with her unseen adviser on the subject of her daughter's
visit to Narragansett. Once or twice Irene dropped her impersonal smile to
tax Vibart with not caring whether she went or not; and Mrs.
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