III
At eleven next morning he crossed the green to dress Lady Selina’s arm. Upworthy presented to his critical eye no apparent change from the normal. What villagers he met greeted him with a sheepish and apologetic air. Ebullition of feeling had simmered away. Even Timothy Farleigh had reassumed his bovine mask, although his face was brighter, Mary being decidedly better, and likely to improve from hour to hour. Agatha thanked him effusively, on her marrow-bones before his “cleverness.” She repeated the same phrase again and again:
“Oh! you are clever, sir; you saved us all, you did.”
“A bit of luck. I saw the wax vesta in the boy’s hand.”
“And so did I, sir. It told me just nothing, nothing.”
“You were too excited to notice trifles at such a time.” He paused, adding significantly: “Are you still excited?”
She flushed a little, hesitating, but constrained to candour beneath his kindly glance.
“Things can’t go on as they are, sir, can they?”
Her tone was interrogative, not defiant. Recognising the change in her mental attitude, he said genially:
“Things never do go on as they are, nor persons. The progress of the world is intermittent; and it rolls on in curves, now up, now down, but the mean level is steadily rising. Ill-considered speech and action clog the wheels. You can give a motor too much lubricating oil, can’t you?”