Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
However, my annoyance could restrain him no better than my persuasion.
He laughed openly, and then suddenly cast off the veil. With a curl at
his lips, and an unmistakable impudence in his eyes, says he:
"I think the time is come, sir, when we might with profit understand
one another a little better. Might we not deal a little more frankly
with one another, do you not think? For instance, if you are prepared
to confess that you have been beset by no highwayman whatever, and the
whole invention of him, the coach, the valuables, the servants, and the
horses is a cock-and-bull story intended to divert the attention of our
honest host from your destitute condition, I am just as prepared to
accept that statement."
"Sir," says I, "I fear that you forget yourself. You insult me
wantonly."
However difficult it may be to condone the truth when it is so
unblushingly expressed, I was hardly in a position to punish him for
the publication of it. Not that it was any sneaking respect for the
truth that restrained me. It was rather that I had arrived at years of
a certain discretion. Was there not everything in the world to lose
and nothing whatever to gain by indulging in open passages with a total
stranger? Cynthia was at my side, and wholly dependent upon me. And
it was her presence and that thought which enabled me to keep so tight
a rein on my furious inclination. Meanwhile this person had turned
such a cool impudent scrutiny upon me that it seemed as though he
calmly spelt out every phase of thought through which I was at that
moment passing.
CHAPTER XVII
WE MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH A PERSON OF DISTINCTION
I was by now worked up to a pretty rage. The stranger regarded it,
however, with perfect calmness, not to say enjoyment.
"In your own particular branch of the profession, sir," says he,
laughing, "I am the first to admit that you do remarkably well. A good
carriage, a refined appearance, an excellent address, and a quite
singular degree of assurance, there is but little wanting to your
success. The lady, your fair companion, is wholly admirable. She hath
the very look and air of a gentlewoman. She is vastly engaging too,
and hath some sweet looks of her own; and I am prepared to say that she
would reassure the most suspicious of landlords and the most
incredulous of travellers."
"I protest, sir," says I, "that I do not follow you in the least."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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