“Then there is but little to be gained by continuing this conversation,” she returned, with a stately bow, and swept out of the room, leaving me to curse the folly that had betrayed me into so false a move. And with this bitter morsel for reflection I sought my solitary room.
Nothing in the world, short of actual dishonour, can cause a man of sensibility keener suffering than the knowledge that he has made a fool of himself. This I had done to the top of my bent. Why had I not apprehended the effective point of attack from the outset, and, instead of attempting any defence, thrown myself on her compassion and generosity? Why had I not...? But it were futile to reiterate the charges I brought against my own folly.
What was the support on which she relied? If her brother—then I regretted from the bottom of my heart I had missed the occasion of squaring that account of which he had spoken. If a man at all, it was he; for the woman who had so discomfited me was heart-whole I could swear; a defiant modesty rang in every note of her voice. Possibly the convent, that fallacious sanctuary for disappointment. But if I knew anything of her sex, she was the last to whom such a retreat could bring satisfaction. Heavens! It was a coil involved enough to drive a man wellnigh distracted.
Dinner, and the intercourse it entailed, did much to restore me to my ordinary bearing, and when Kit sought me in the afternoon, with a polite request from his Captain that I would wait upon him when at leisure, I had quite recovered. Nothing could have fallen out more to my liking; I was anxious to discover his cause of quarrel with me, and, if possible, to arrive at some solution of Margaret's attitude. So I followed Kit to his room at once.
Nairn I found a trifle pale, with a well-bandaged head, but his welcome was open and unconstrained, and his greeting met me at the threshold. As I advanced to return it, I caught the flutter of a dress out of the opposite door, which informed me that his sufferings were not without certain consolations.
I took the hand extended to me with the same heartiness as it was offered.
“Will you accept a broken man's apology for a whole man's insult, Chevalier? I have promised my sister that I would make you this reparation, and I am heartily glad we can return to our old footing of Louisbourg.”
“Readily, Nairn. I have seen your sister this morning, and I cannot blame your action. I might have done the same myself. Let us say no more about it.”
“With all my heart! Well, Chevalier, the fortune of war has reversed our personal positions from Louisbourg, but I do not see that the end is much more certain now than then.”
“Much the same,” I answered; “the result altogether depends on the first ships.”