I want to
prove to that man that it was all an accident--an unaccountable deviation
from my normal instincts; that having once been a coward doesn't mean that
a man's cowardly... and I can't, I can't!"
Mr. Carstyle's tone had passed insensibly from agitation to irony. He had
got back to his usual objective stand-point.
"Why, I'm a perfect olive-branch," he concluded, with his dry indulgent
laugh; "the very babies stop crying at my approach--I carry a sort of
millennium about with me--I'd make my fortune as an agent of the Peace
Society. I shall go to the grave leaving that other man unconvinced!"
Vibart walked back with him to Millbrook. On her doorstep they met Mrs.
Carstyle, flushed and feathered, with a card-case and dusty boots.
"I don't ask you in," she said plaintively, to Vibart, "because I can't
answer for the food this evening. My maid-of-all-work tells me that she's
going to a ball--which is more than I've done in years! And besides, it
would be cruel to ask you to spend such a hot evening in our stuffy little
house--the air is so much cooler at Mrs. Vance's. Remember me to Mrs.
Vance, please, and tell her how sorry I am that I can no longer include
her in my round of visits. When I had my carriage I saw the people I
liked, but now that I have to walk, my social opportunities are more
limited. I was not obliged to do my visiting on foot when I was younger,
and my doctor tells me that to persons accustomed to a carriage no
exercise is more injurious than walking.
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