“Very well, Mr. Mainwaring—but—you may be sure that I shall certainly take the first opportunity to explain myself to Sir Robert,” returned Richardson as, with an attempt at dignity, he strode away.
There was an interval of silence.
“Don't be too hard upon a fellow, Bradley,” said Mainwaring as Bradley remained dark and motionless in the shadow. “It is a poor return I'm making you for your kindness, but I swear I never thought of anything like—like—this.”
“Nor did I,” said Bradley, bitterly.
“I know it, and that's what makes it so infernally bad for me. Forgive me, won't you? Think of me, old fellow, as the wretchedest ass you ever met, but not such a cad as this would make me!” As Mainwaring stepped out from the moonlight towards him with extended hand, Bradley grasped it warmly.
“Thanks—there—thanks, old fellow! And, Bradley—I say—don't say anything to your wife, for I don't think she knows it. And, Bradley—look here—I didn't like to be anything but plain before that fellow; but I don't mind telling YOU, now that it's all over, that I really think Louise—Miss Macy—didn't altogether understand me either.”
With another shake of the hand they separated for the night. For a long time after Mainwaring had gone, Bradley remained gazing thoughtfully into the Great Canyon. He thought of the time when he had first come there, full of life and enthusiasm, making an ideal world of his pure and wholesome eyrie on the ledge. What else he thought will, probably, never be known until the misunderstanding of honorable and chivalrous men by a charming and illogical sex shall incite the audacious pen of some more daring romancer.
When he returned to the house, he said kindly to his wife, “I have been thinking to-day about your hotel scheme, and I shall write to Sacramento to-night to accept that capitalist's offer.”