Only a person with the instincts of a true gentleman could have shown such a punctilious regard for the feelings of another, and such a disregard for his own. For in a sense he had been deeply provoked, and had suffered more indignity on his own part than any that he had inflicted on Mrs. Cynthia. But no, my little madam refused to be mollified by his humble demeanour. She looked steadily past him, as though he had ceased to be there at all. Upon that my own brief spirit of anger cooled down immediately; for certainly I thought, considering his unhappy plight, poor Fielding was playing a very gallant part.
"I think there is enough said, sir," says I, striving to speak as articulately as possible. "I am sure you do very well; and I am equally sure that the apologies should not be all on your side."
Whereon we grasped the hand of one another, and were sworn friends again. Yet although Cynthia would not deign to notice my behaviour one way or the other, on the other hand, greatly to Mr. Fielding's distress, she would not condone the conduct of that honest fellow. Her imperviousness hurt him the more, I think, because he did not apprehend the true reason for it. She could have forgiven his having smoked her so badly, but what she could not forgive was that he had made her husband drunk. I dare say it was that she was acting on the invariable principle that a woman will never own her lord and master in the wrong to a third person. And as she must vent her anger on some one, and she could not very well vent it on me, the true culprit, Mr. Fielding was made to suffer vicariously.
"Come, Jack," says she haughtily, disdaining Mr. Fielding's repeated solicitude; "let us wipe the foulness of this disgraceful place off our feet. If daylight came and caught us in it, I could never respect myself again."
The stress of these events had done a great deal for my sobriety. I was still acutely conscious of my condition, but I had recovered enough of my wits to be able to battle with it successfully. That being the case, I clearly saw that my little one was like to do a great injustice to Mr. Fielding.
"Cynthia," says I, "I conceive you do not know what we owe to the generosity of this gentleman. Had it not been for his friendly offices I should have been still in the hands of the constables."
"I had rather you had," says she cruelly, "than that you should have passed into his."
Not only was I hurt by such arbitrary behaviour; I was angered by it too. It seemed monstrous that so small a fault in a liberal character should be allowed to outweigh the essential goodness of it.
"Cynthia," says I, "I trust you will not refer to our benefactor in these terms. He is far too good a friend of ours to merit your reproaches."
Mrs. Cynthia lifted her chin again, and disdained to reply.