“My conduct? Now you are unjust!”
“Not at all,” said Margaret. “I am not so wholly uninured to the necessity of sometimes hearing annoyances, as to be made miserable by having to talk for several hours with a man I do not like. You will never believe it, of course, but I do not think Major King is a man who lacks good feeling, the essence and soul of politeness. He belongs to a type that I know very well. He is an ignorant man and a very self-opinionated one, and he has been so long in need of association with his superiors that he has begun to think that he has none. He does not know the world, and is therefore unaware of the fact, that a man who holds the position of a gentleman may be guilty of many lapses without losing that position. I spoke just now of its being rather a light tenure, but, in some ways, it is very strong, it seems. I have said I do not like Major King, but I believe it is a mistake to call him vulgar. He is foolish and conceited, because he has had very slender opportunities to learn better. But oh, Mr. Gaston, how different with you! It is impossible not to draw the contrast. You know the world. You have studied and travelled. You are clever, cultivated and accomplished, and to what end? It has all resulted in an act which yesterday I would have wagered my right hand you were incapable of.”
She spoke with real feeling in her voice, and Gaston caught this inflection, and the sound of it quickened his blood. His ideas and emotions were strangely confused. He felt that he ought to be angry and resentful, but he was conscious only of being contrite.
“I have said too much. I have spoken far too freely,” said Margaret, breaking in upon his reflections. “I meant to be quite silent, but when you urged me to speak I forgot myself. I am sorry.”
“Don’t be,” the young man answered gently; “the fact that these are your opinions entitles them at least to my respect. But there is one thing I must mention before we drop this subject. I cannot be satisfied to allow you to retain the idea that I was accountable for the discomfiture you endured yesterday evening. You must know that I would joyfully shield you from all vexations and annoyances.”
“No,” said Margaret gently, shaking her head; “it was you, and not Major King, who made those hours so wretched to me. You made no effort to conceal the fact that you were outraged and indignant, and what could be clearer than that I had been the means of bringing this deeply resented annoyance upon you? If you had thought of me, you must have seen that.”
“I thought of you continually. It was chiefly upon your account that I resented the intrusion. It matters little to a man whom he happens to rub against, but it pains me deeply that a lady—that you should not be screened from such intercourse.”
In spite of herself, Margaret was touched by this. A hundred times, since she had known him, she had seen Louis Gaston give evidence of an exquisite feeling of deference to women, and she could readily believe that he had been influenced on this occasion partly by consideration for herself; and while she resented the means used she did justice to the motive.
“It is much better that we have talked of this,” she said presently. “I do thank you for having that feeling about me. You could not know it was not needed. I will try to forget it all.”
“But you will not succeed,” he said; “your tone convinces me of that. I wish we understood each other better, Miss Trevennon, and I do not yet give up the hope that in time we may.”