“No. It would have been useless. Besides, the very mention of his name would have been resented. I should have had to fling myself headlong against the feelings of the whole public. And no man has any right to do that.”
“No,” said Mrs. Thornton. “No man has. That was another mistake that the martyrs made. They would fling themselves against public opinion.”
“All men can not be martyrs. Besides, the cases are not analogous.”
Thornton spoke calmly and dispassionately.
“True. It is absurd in me; but I admire one who has for a moment forgotten his own interests or safety in thinking of others.”
“That does very well for poetry, but not in real life.”
“In real life, such as that on board the Tecumseh?” murmured Mrs. Thornton, with drooping eyelids.
“You are getting excited, my dear,” said Thornton, patiently, with the air of a wise father who overlooks the petulance of his child. “I will go on. I had business on the Continent when poor Brandon’s ruin occurred. You were with me, my dear, at Berlin when I heard about it. I felt shocked, but not surprised. I feared that it would come to that.”
“You showed no emotion in particular.”
“No; I was careful not to trouble you.”