“Often: sometimes to himself alone, sometimes in the presence of others.”
She could not restrain a smile. “It must be a pleasant thing to tell a man!”
“A man? Oh, that would be a different matter!”
There was a barbaric simplicity in all this that she could not help respecting, particularly as she felt he was telling the truth: and she sympathized with him heartily in this opinion of Horace Bennett. While openly unforgiving and vindictive, he appeared to regard his enemy with the half-serious contempt of a gentle but experienced philosopher. But she remembered her resolution.
“Mr. Fettiplace has been telling us about that white jacket. What an interesting story!”
“Yes, everything he tells is interesting. He has a rare faculty in that direction.”
“But in this case he had an unusual subject. It is like a fairy story. I suppose you wore it some time or other?”
“I suppose so.”
“But you must remember.”
“Vaguely. I was only seven years old when I came to this country and I never wore it here.”