But Oliver Weathersby Seton, jester to the world at large, had yet to learn that there was anything to laugh at in Oliver Weathersby Seton. He sat wrapped in offence, vexed indeed with himself, but, because his vanity was in shreds, doubly and trebly vexed with the unaccommodating Laura. He thought that he had never happened on so typical a _bourgeoise_ ... it just showed how appearances could deceive even a man of his experience.... He would have vouched for a temperament ... it showed in every clean-cut line of her.... Yet here she was, kicking up a fuss like a vicar’s daughter!... He wondered where it would end?... He believed she was capable of blurting out the whole idiotic business to Mrs. Cloud ... exaggerating, of course.... Well, it couldn’t be helped.... Or could it?... A row with Justin would be a beastly nuisance.... If he’d dreamed she’d take it like that ... such a pretty girl too.... What a waste! Lord! what a waste!... Thus Oliver to himself in the pregnant silence that had fallen upon them; while at his elbow Laura, erect, impassive, attending awfully to her work and nothing else whatever, had also her thoughts. What a thing, what an appalling thing to happen to one! Oliver must be crazy.... Suppose any one.... Suppose Justin—she turned cold at the mere idea—suppose Justin came to know of it.... Her ears began to burn. He would think that she—Laura—was the sort of girl who got herself made love to.... She could imagine his face and the shrug of his shoulders.... And she could never explain—there was never any chance of explaining things to Justin: you were summed up—judged—and irrevocable sentence passed—for a word, a luckless phrase, a nervous gaucherie ... and you never knew exactly what you had done.... Hopeless to dream of explaining.... She supposed Oliver would be sure to tell Justin?... they were such friends.... She flushed darkly. If Oliver were such a beast as to tell Justin.... Oh, but surely Oliver wouldn’t dream of telling Justin?... Yet she grew more and more miserable. Suppose Oliver did tell Justin?... Suppose Justin were absolutely disgusted?... Of course she couldn’t ask Oliver not to tell Justin ... quite impossible.... It was Oliver’s business to apologize to her.... She never intended to speak to him again except before the Clouds.... But if, by a few words, without being nice in the least.... She had a perfect right, if she chose, to ask him—to tell him—to order him, that is, not to tell Justin.... She turned to him, her chin high, catching her breath a little. “Oliver!” “Er—yes,” said Oliver. “I want to say—I merely want to say—whatever I think of you myself—I shan’t—I don’t want you—it doesn’t seem to me necessary—to bother Mrs. Cloud.” “Certainly not!” said Oliver fervently. There was a pause. “Or—or anybody,” she added lamely. “No—no.” He agreed with her. Again they paused, relenting imperceptibly to each other in their mutual relief. But Laura wanted to be quite sure.