H. And so you are to tell me to-morrow that you are engaged? Might I ask you if, in taking this step, you were actuated by a wish to obtain my forgiveness?
E. (laughing). I expected you to ask mine—for being engaged to Mattie Montgomery.
H. (sits). Suppose this afternoon you tell me about the—to be colloquial—the happy man. And I will have some more tea.
E. (looking into the sugar-bowl). Well, to tell the truth this afternoon—he doesn’t happen—to be—colloquially—the happy man.
H. (aside; walking about). So that note was written to-day. I did not see the date. It is not yet five o’clock, and it is not yet too late. I shall gain nothing by getting rattled and making a fool of myself. (Aloud, coming back and holding out his cup, into which Esther drops sugar as they speak.) Have I then taken his place?
E. (gravely). No. He is (lump) conservative (lump) in his (lump) tastes (lump). He takes (lump) no sugar (lump) at all (lump) in his.
H. (who has been watching Esther’s face, and not her fingers, sets down his cup hastily). Seven lumps is a little radical. Then you have forgotten all in four years? (Pacing the floor.) Forgotten what I, Esther, have been fool enough to remember as if it had happened yesterday! Who is it talks about woman’s constancy?
E. (aside). Not I. But I am very much afraid I shall begin to. Has the tea gone to my head too?
H. (with much feeling). The bitterest lesson the four years have taught me, Esther, is that one’s earliest lessons are never unlearned. They have been kinder to you.
E. (in a low tone). Have they? Perhaps. They have taught us both, however, that it is not necessary to unlearn them; one can go on as if one had never studied—old lessons.