He laid his hand on the King's arm.
"I like your answer, my boy. It is the answer I expected you to make. But I could not be sure. Human nature being the unaccountable thing that it is, I could not be sure. And now, I have another question to ask you. And I am the heavy father now. If only I could be grave! If your visits to us are to continue, don't you think it will be, perhaps, as well for you to be a little more careful about—the conventions, shall I say? You arrived very late, last night. Judith was alone to receive you. Such circumstances are liable to be misunderstood, don't you think? And, although we are all apt to overlook the fact, we are all—human. A wise man avoids, for his own sake, and for the sake of others—certain provocations. 'The prudent man forseeth the evil'—but the quotation would be lost on you. A text for my sermon!"
The King had, automatically, let out the car, in response to Uncle Bond's direction. He applied all his brakes, and slowed the car down again now, on his own behalf. He wanted to be able to breathe, to think.
This was the first time Uncle Bond had ever spoken to him in this way. The wonder, of course, was that he had never spoken to him, in this way, before. Did the little man know what had happened the night before? No. That was impossible. Judith would not, Judith could not, have disclosed what had happened to him. It must be his own unerring instinct, his own sure knowledge of human nature, which had prompted the little man to deliver this sermon. This sermon? This generous, kindly, tactful, whimsical reproof. How well deserved the reproof was, the events of the night before had shown.
"I am sorry, Uncle Bond. I have been very thoughtless," he said. "It will not happen again."
"Judith and I appreciate your visits, my boy," Uncle Bond continued. "It would be a matter of very great regret to—both of us—if we found that we had—to limit, in any way—the hospitality, which we have been so glad to offer you. We wish, we both wish, to maintain our present, pleasant relationship, unchanged. That is your wish, too, I think?"
The King let out the car once again. His emotions, his thoughts required, now, the relief of speed.
"Somehow, I can never bear to think of any change, where you, and Judith, and the Imps are concerned, Uncle Bond," he exclaimed. "Somehow, I can never think of you, except all together, in the surroundings you have made your own. And that is strange, you know! We are all, as you say—human. Judith—Judith is the superior of every woman I have ever met. Her place is, her place ought to be, by right, at the head of the procession. And yet, somehow, I can never see her there!"
Uncle Bond sat very still.
"At the head of the procession?" he murmured. "Is that so enviable a position, my boy? Ask the man, ask the men, you find there!"