A Counterfeit Presentment; and, The Parlour Car

by William Dean Howells

Constance.—"Yes. That is, not very much."

Bartlett.—"Oh! You don't like allegory! Upon second thoughts, I don't myself. We will not try allegory. We will try a supposed case. I think that's always the best way, don't you?"

Constance.—"No, I don't like any sort of indirection. I believe the straightforward way is the best."

Bartlett.—"Yes, so do I; but it's impossible. We must try a supposed case."

Constance, laughing.—"Well!"

Bartlett.—"Ah! I can't say anything if you laugh. It's a serious matter."

Constance, with another burst of laughter.—"I should never have thought so." With a sudden return of her old morbid mood: "I beg your pardon for laughing. What right have I to laugh? Go on, Mr. Bartlett, and I will listen as I should have done. I am ashamed."

Bartlett.—"No, no! That won't do! You mustn't take me so seriously as that! Oh, Miss Wyatt, if I could only be so much your friend, your fool,—I don't care what,—as to banish that look, that tone from you for ever!"