“No.”
“Really! And your friend, Pythias—is he a gentleman of elegant leisure, too?”
“He’s a lawyer, if you mean Gilbert.”
“Yes, I mean Gilbert,” said Mrs. Farrell, abstractedly. “He didn’t go in too young, then?”
“He’s a little older than I.”
“‘I said an older soldier, not a better,’” quoted Mrs. Farrell. “Is he—why, excuse me! I seem to be actually pumping you.”
“I hope you’ll believe that I’m not in the habit of exploiting myself and my affairs,” said Easton.
But Mrs. Farrell did not seem to heed what he said. She looked him steadily in the face with her bewildering eyes, and asked, “Why doesn’t he live on some better man’s money, too?” and laughed to see his shame painted in his face.
“I have been so silly as to talk of my own business, and you’ve punished me as I deserved; but I don’t think I’ll enter into my friend’s concerns, even for the honor of making you laugh,” he answered, hotly.
“Then you don’t like being laughed at?” she gravely questioned. Easton rose to his feet. “What! Are you actually going away from me? I beg you to forgive me— I do indeed! I really meant nothing. You haven’t said a word that I don’t respect you for. I thought you wouldn’t mind it. Tell me how I shall treat you. It’s only for a week; I should be so sorry to be enemies with you while you stay. What shall I do to make peace? What shall I say?”