“Not by the Catholic form, madame. Try to force love, you kill it. It is like trying to force an appetite. You make yourself sick at the stomach in the attempt.”
Here there was a ring at the door-bell, and Toussaint left the room. On his return he said: “The husband of madame is below. He wishes to speak with madame.”
Surprised and disturbed, Mrs. Charlton said, “Take away the breakfast things.”
“But madame has not touched the salmon nor the omelette, and only a poor little bit of the crust of this roll,” murmured Toussaint.
“I have had enough, my good Toussaint. Take them away, and let Mr. Charlton come in.”
Then, as if by way of contradicting what she had said a moment before, she began smoothing her hair and arranging her shawl. The inconsistency between her practice and her profession seemed to suggest itself to her suddenly, for she smiled sadly, and murmured, “After all, I have not quite outlived my folly!”
Charlton entered unaccompanied. His manner was that of a man who has a big scheme in his head, which he is trying to disguise and undervalue. Moved by an unwonted excitement, he strove to appear calm and indifferent, but, like a bad actor, he overdid his part.
“I have come, Emily,” said he, “to ask your pardon for the past.”
“Indeed! Then you want something. What can I do for you?”
“You misapprehend me, my dear. Affairs have gone wrong with me of late; but my prospects are brightening now, and my wish is that you should have the benefit of the change.”