"
"If you do it successfully," said his companion, "I will be glad of a
lesson from you in the art."
L'Isle was angry with himself. Not that he felt that he owed Lady
Mabel any amends. But he had never until now made the slightest
allusion to certain scenes in the past. Pride had forbidden it. And he
was still reproaching himself with his want of self-control, when, on
entering another room, he saw Lady Mabel seated between two old
ladies, having ensconced herself there to get rid of the small
_savant_.
She no longer looked discomposed or angry, nor did she turn her eyes
away on his approach. She almost seemed to wish to speak to him. So
he offered his arm, and they walked toward the room he had just left.
"I know that you are too proud," she said, "to ask any pardon for the
attack you made on me just now. So I wish to tell you that I have
already forgiven it."
"That is truly generous," said L'Isle, with haughty irony. "You prove
the adage false which says, 'The injurer never forgives.'"
"Say you so? I see then that you have gone back years to dig up old
offences. Although I remember, to repent of them, I trusted that you
would have willingly forgiven and forgot my folly, or only recall it
to laugh at it.
Pages:
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471