Domestic fiction; Education -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Political fiction; Social problems -- Fiction; Utilitarianism -- Fiction
If she had asserted any influence over him beyond her plain faith in the
truth and right of what she said; if she had concealed the least doubt or
irresolution, or had harboured for the best purpose any reserve or
pretence; if she had shown, or felt, the lightest trace of any
sensitiveness to his ridicule or his astonishment, or any remonstrance he
might offer; he would have carried it against her at this point. But he
could as easily have changed a clear sky by looking at it in surprise, as
affect her.
‘But do you know,’ he asked, quite at a loss, ‘the extent of what you
ask? You probably are not aware that I am here on a public kind of
business, preposterous enough in itself, but which I have gone in for,
and sworn by, and am supposed to be devoted to in quite a desperate
manner? You probably are not aware of that, but I assure you it’s the
fact.’
It had no effect on Sissy, fact or no fact.
‘Besides which,’ said Mr. Harthouse, taking a turn or two across the
room, dubiously, ‘it’s so alarmingly absurd. It would make a man so
ridiculous, after going in for these fellows, to back out in such an
incomprehensible way.’
‘I am quite sure,’ repeated Sissy, ‘that it is the only reparation in
your power, sir. I am quite sure, or I would not have come here.’
He glanced at her face, and walked about again. ‘Upon my soul, I don’t
know what to say. So immensely absurd!’
It fell to his lot, now, to stipulate for secrecy.
‘If I were to do such a very ridiculous thing,’ he said, stopping again
presently, and leaning against the chimney-piece, ‘it could only be in
the most inviolable confidence.’
‘I will trust to you, sir,’ returned Sissy, ‘and you will trust to me.’
His leaning against the chimney-piece reminded him of the night with the
whelp. It was the self-same chimney-piece, and somehow he felt as if
_he_ were the whelp to-night. He could make no way at all.
‘I suppose a man never was placed in a more ridiculous position,’ he
said, after looking down, and looking up, and laughing, and frowning, and
walking off, and walking back again. ‘But I see no way out of it. What
will be, will be. _This_ will be, I suppose. I must take off myself, I
imagine—in short, I engage to do it.’
Sissy rose. She was not surprised by the result, but she was happy in
it, and her face beamed brightly.
‘You will permit me to say,’ continued Mr. James Harthouse, ‘that I doubt
if any other ambassador, or ambassadress, could have addressed me with
the same success. I must not only regard myself as being in a very
ridiculous position, but as being vanquished at all points. Will you
allow me the privilege of remembering my enemy’s name?’
‘_My_ name?’ said the ambassadress.
‘The only name I could possibly care to know, to-night.’
‘Sissy Jupe.’
‘Pardon my curiosity at parting. Related to the family?’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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