“Oh, she won’t mind, and I told the man so; but he kept on saying, ‘_I_’ll not be the means of bringing shame to an honest gentleman and lady,’ until I got out of his rotten cart.” His eye watched the man, a Nonconformist, driving away over God’s earth. “I caught the train by running. I got to Waterloo at—” Here the parlour-maid fluttered towards them. Would Mr. Wonham come in? Mrs. Elliot would be glad to see him now. “Mrs. Elliot?” cried Ansell. “Not Mr. Elliot?” “It’s all the same,” said Stephen, and moved towards the house. “You see, I only left my name. They don’t know why I’ve come.” “Perhaps Mr. Elliot sees me meanwhile?” The parlour-maid looked blank. Mr. Elliot had not said so. He had been with Mrs. Elliot and Mr. Pembroke in the study. Now the gentlemen had gone upstairs. “All right, I can wait.” After all, Rickie was treating him as he had treated Rickie, as one in the grave, to whom it is futile to make any loving motion. Gone upstairs—to brush his hair for dinner! The irony of the situation appealed to him strongly. It reminded him of the Greek Drama, where the actors know so little and the spectators so much. “But, by the bye,” he called after Stephen, “I think I ought to tell you—don’t—” “What is it?” “Don’t—” Then he was silent. He had been tempted to explain everything, to tell the fellow how things stood, that he must avoid this if he wanted to attain that; that he must break the news to Rickie gently; that he must have at least one battle royal with Agnes. But it was contrary to his own spirit to coach people: he held the human soul to be a very delicate thing, which can receive eternal damage from a little patronage. Stephen must go into the house simply as himself, for thus alone would he remain there. “I ought to knock my pipe out? Was that it?” “By no means. Go in, your pipe and you.” He hesitated, torn between propriety and desire. Then he followed the parlour-maid into the house smoking. As he entered the dinner-bell rang, and there was the sound of rushing feet, which died away into shuffling and silence. Through the window of the boys’ dining-hall came the colourless voice of Rickie— “‘Benedictus benedicat.’” Ansell prepared himself to witness the second act of the drama; forgetting that all this world, and not part of it, is a stage. XXVII The parlour-maid took Mr. Wonham to the study. He had been in the drawing-room before, but had got bored, and so had strolled out into the garden. Now he was in better spirits, as a man ought to be who has knocked down a man. As he passed through the hall he sparred at the teak monkey, and hung his cap on the bust of Hermes. And he greeted Mrs. Elliot with a pleasant clap of laughter. “Oh, I’ve come with the most tremendous news!” he cried.