“Yes,” he assented, almost to himself, “it is that strange, inexplicable grouping of men and things that, under one name or another, we all confess ... just luck.”
“Of course you will not mention this to Uncle Louis yet, Mr Carrados?”
“If you do not wish it, certainly not.”
“I am sure that it would distress him. He is so soft-hearted, so kind, in everything. Do you know, I found out that he had had an invitation to dine somewhere and meet some quite important people on Tuesday. Yet he came here instead, although most other men would have cried off, just because he knew that we small people would have been disappointed.”
“Well, you can’t expect me to see any self-denial in that,” exclaimed Carrados. “Why, I was one of them myself.”
Elsie Bellmark laughed outright at the expressive disgust of his tone.
“I had no idea of that,” she said. “Then there is another reason. Uncle is not very well off, yet if he knew how Roy was situated he would make an effort to arrange matters. He would, I am sure, even borrow himself in order to lend us the money. That is a thing Roy and I are quite agreed on. We will go back; we will go under, if it is to be; but we will not borrow money, not even from Uncle Louis.”
Once, subsequently, Carrados suddenly asked Mr Carlyle whether he had ever heard a woman’s voice roll like a celestial kettle-drum. The professional gentleman was vastly amused by the comparison, but he admitted that he had not.
“So that, you see,” concluded Mrs Bellmark, “there is really nothing to be done.”
“Oh, quite so; I am sure that you are right,” assented her visitor readily. “But in the meanwhile I do not see why the annoyance of your next-door neighbour should be permitted to go on.”