"Oh, dear!" I sighed. "It's going to be horrid here. But"—with a stab of remorse for my self-absorption—"it's just as bad for you as for me. You don't need to stay in the house, though. You're a man, and free. Don't stop for my sake. I won't have it! Please live in an inn. There's sure to be one near by."
"I'm not going to look for it," said my brother. "You needn't worry about me. I've got pretty callous. I shall have quarters for nothing here—you're always preaching economy."
But I wouldn't be convinced. "Pooh! You're only saying that, so that I won't think you're sacrificing yourself for me. Do you know anything about the Roquemartines?"
"A little."
"Good gracious, I hope you've never met them?"
"I believe I lunched here with them once three years ago, with a motoring friend of theirs."
He stated this fact so quietly, that, if I hadn't begun to know him and his ways, I might have supposed him indifferent to the situation; but—I can hardly say why—I didn't suppose it. I supposed just the contrary; and I respected him, and his calmness, twenty times more than before, if that were possible. Besides, I would have loved him twenty times more, only that was impossible. How much stronger and better he was than I—I, who blurted out my every feeling! I, a stranger, felt the position almost too hateful for endurance, simply because it was ruffling to my vanity. He, an acquaintance of these people, who had been their guest, resigned himself to herding with their servants, because—yes, I knew it!—because he would not let me bear annoyances alone.
"You can't, you shan't stop in the house!" I gasped. "Leave me and the luggage. Drive the car to the nearest village."
"I don't want to leave you. Can't you understand that?" he said. "I'm not sacrificing myself."
We were at the door. We had been heard. If I had suddenly been endowed with the eloquence of Demosthenes, the gift would have come too late. The door was thrown open, not by servants, but by a merry, curious crowd of ladies and gentlemen, anxious to see the arrival of the belated, no doubt much talked of, automobile. Light streamed out from a great hall, which seemed, at first glance, to be half full of people in evening dress, girls and young men, gay and laughing. Everybody was talking at the same time, chattering both English and French, nobody listening to anybody else, all intent on having a glimpse of the car. I believe they were disappointed not to see it battered by some accident; sensations are so dear to the hearts of idle ones.