"Anything unexpected is odd," said Lady Mabel. It seemed to her to be very odd,—unless certain people had made up their minds as to the expediency of a certain event.
"That is what you call logic;—isn't it? Anything unexpected is odd!"
"Lord Silverbridge, I won't be laughed at. You have been at Oxford and ought to know what logic is."
"That at any rate is ill-natured," he replied, turning very red in the face.
"You don't think I meant it. Oh, Lord Silverbridge, say that you don't think I meant it. You cannot think I would willingly wound you. Indeed, indeed, I was not thinking." It had in truth been an accident. She could not speak aloud because they were closely surrounded by others, but she looked up in his face to see whether he were angry with her. "Say that you do not think I meant it."
"I do not think you meant it."
"I would not say a word to hurt you,—oh, for more than I can tell you."
"It is all bosh, of course," he said laughing; "but I do not like to hear the old place named. I have always made a fool of myself. Some men do it and don't care about it. But I do it, and yet it makes me miserable."
"If that be so you will soon give over making—what you call a fool of yourself. For myself I like the idea of wild oats. I look upon them like measles. Only you should have a doctor ready when the disease shows itself."
"What sort of a doctor ought I to have?"