“I won’t say that—but ashamed of your reasons.”
The elder man beautifully smiled. “You must let me judge of them, my good friend.”
“Yes; why not? For you judged wonderfully of mine.”
The tone of these words appeared suddenly, for St. George, to suggest the unsuspected. He stared as if divining a bitterness. “Don’t you think I’ve been straight?”
“You might have told me at the time perhaps.”
“My dear fellow, when I say I couldn’t pierce futurity—!”
“I mean afterwards.”
The Master wondered. “After my wife’s death?”
“When this idea came to you.”
“Ah never, never! I wanted to save you, rare and precious as you are.”