“I should not advise him to do so while uncle’s about.”
“No, of course not,” continued Guest. “But I was thinking whether it would be possible for Myra to go, of course with you, and—perhaps I could arrange it—catch him at his chambers. He would explain everything to her, I’m sure, and you see perhaps after all it may not be so bad.”
“Oh, no, perhaps not,” said Edie, with a sneering intonation which escaped Guest in his infatuation over his new idea for serving two people whom he esteemed. Then, unable to control herself, she burst out with: “Oh, how can people be so stupid? As if it were possible that Myra could ever speak to such a man again.”
It gradually dawned upon Guest that he had made a terrible blunder, and he went back to his chambers snubbed and fully determined never more to risk his position with Edie by trying to fight his friend’s battle and piece together the broken fibres of the suddenly disruptured skein.
He was no little surprised, then, some weeks later, after dining at the admiral’s and listening to several of the old man’s old sea stories, to find Edie, upon reaching the drawing room, revive the idea as they sat talking together in a low tone, while Myra played, and her father took his nap.
“Don’t talk about it,” he said softly. “Every man makes a fool of himself sometimes. I suppose I did then.”
“There does not seem to be much foolishness in trying to serve others,” whispered Edie.
“I say, don’t,” said Guest in a low tone after gazing wonderingly in his companion’s face. “You are laying a trap for me to fall into, and it’s too bad.”
“No, I’m not, Percy,” she replied. “I’ve thought a great deal since about what you said. I was very indignant then, but now I think quite differently.”
“You do?”