Soon he was out of earshot. Soon they were lost to view. Soon they were out of his thoughts. He forgot the coarseness and the drinking and the ingratitude. A few months ago he would not have forgotten so quickly, and he might also have detected something else. But a lover is dogmatic. To him the world shall be beautiful and pure. When it is not, he ignores it.
“He’s not tired,” said Stephen to the soldier; “he wants his girl.” And they winked at each other, and cracked jokes over the eternal comedy of love. They asked each other if they’d let a girl spoil a morning’s ride. They both exhibited a profound cynicism. Stephen, who was quite without ballast, described the household at Cadover: he should say that Rickie would find Miss Pembroke kissing the footman.
“I say the footman’s kissing old Em’ly.”
“Jolly day,” said Stephen. His voice was suddenly constrained. He was not sure whether he liked the soldier after all, nor whether he had been wise in showing him his compositions.
“‘Old Em’ly she limps, And as—‘”
“All right, Thomas. That’ll do.”
“Old Em’ly—‘”
“I wish you’d dry up, like a good fellow. This is the lady’s horse, you know, hang it, after all.”
“In-deed!”
“Don’t you see—when a fellow’s on a horse, he can’t let another fellow—kind of—don’t you know?”