In this colloquy I did all the reasoning, and Mrs. March’s conscience was completely silenced; but it rose triumphant in my miserable soul when I met Miss Gage at breakfast, looking radiantly happy, and disposed to fellowship me in an unusual confidence because, as I clearly perceived, of our last night’s adventure. I said to myself bitterly that happiness did not become her style, and I hoped that she would get away with her confounded rapture before Mrs. March came down. I resolved not to tell Mrs. March if it fell out so, but at the same time, as a sort of atonement, I decided to begin keeping the sharpest kind of watch upon Miss Gage for the outward signs and tokens of love. She said, “When you began to talk that way last night, Mr. March, it almost took my breath, and if you hadn’t gone so far, and mentioned about the sunset through the sleety trees, I never should have suspected you.” “Ah, that’s the trouble with men, Miss Gage.” And when I said “men” I fancied she flushed a little. “We never know when to stop; we always overdo it; if it were not for that we should be as perfect as women. Perhaps you’ll give me another chance, though.” “No; we shall be on our guard after this.” She corrected herself and said, “I shall always be looking out for you now,” and she certainly showed herself conscious in the bridling glance that met my keen gaze. “Good heavens!” I thought. “Has it really gone so far?” and more than ever I resolved not to tell Mrs. March. I went out to engage a carriage to take us to the races, and to agree with the driver that he should wait for us at a certain corner some blocks distant from our hotel, where we were to walk and find him. We always did this, because there were a number of clergymen in our house, and Mrs. March could not make it seem right to start for the races direct from the door, though she held that it was perfectly right for us to go. For the same reason she made the driver stop short of our destination on our return, and walked home the rest of the way. Almost the first time we practised this deception I was met at the door by the sweetest and dearest of these old divines, who said, “Have you ever seen the races here? I’m told the spectacle is something very fine,” and I was obliged to own that I had once had a glimpse of them. But it was in vain that I pleaded this fact with Mrs. March; she insisted that the appearance of not going to the races was something that we owed the cloth, and no connivance on their part could dispense us from it.