So there was no fuss or fainting; for that matter my poor fellow-traveler had not the strength to move. I rose, helped her to assume a more comfortable position, placed a cushion under her head, and covered her with my rug. Then, having called the steward and recommended Mme. Arthur to his care, there remained nothing but to decamp, and quit the thankless rôle of caretaker of somebody else's wife.
When we got into harbor at Folkestone, Arthur suddenly made his appearance from somewhere in the lower regions. He was my very double—the same size, the same dress.... I saw through the misadventure.
On joining the London train, I found myself in the same compartment as the young couple. Arthur knew all, as they say in sensational novels, and we had a hearty laugh together over the affair. Arthur was as gay as a lark. I attributed his mirth to the fact of his having left the sea behind, and to his finding himself once more on terra firma with his beloved one. I found in the course of conversation that he had only been married the day before, and the happy pair had come over to hide their bliss in the fogs. They intended passing their honeymoon in London. It would have been sacrilege. I dissuaded them from their project, and induced them to go to Scotland, to see its lakes and mountains, and the bracken lit up with autumnal gold.
CHAPTER XIII.
BRITISH PHILOSOPHY AND FRENCH SENSITIVENESS.
British philosophy!
Why not English Philosophy?
The difference is enormous. If I were to publish a treatise on the English philosophers, Bacon, Locke, Stuart Mill, Herbert Spencer, Frederic Harrison, etc., I should call my work: "A Study of English Philosophy." But if I said to you that the English, not having succeeded in regaining Khartoum, contented themselves with regaining the road to England, I should add, that is British philosophy.
You would not say, "History of British Literature," you say, "History of English Literature."