"O no, Loudon; I feel you are wrong there,"
he interjected warmly; "she DOES appreciate your
nature." "So much the better, then," I continued; and
went on to point out that our separation need not be
for long; that, in the way affairs were going, he might
join me in two years with a fortune--small, indeed, for
the States, but in France almost conspicuous; that we
might unite our resources, and have one house in Paris
for the winter and a second near Fontainebleau for
summer, where we could be as happy as the day was long,
and bring up little Pinkertons as practical artistic
workmen, far from the money-hunger of the West. "Let
me go, then," I concluded; "not as a deserter, but as
the vanguard, to lead the march of the Pinkerton men."
So I argued and pleaded, not without emotion; my friend
sitting opposite, resting his chin upon his hand and
(but for that single interjection) silent. "I have
been looking for this, Loudon," said he, when I had
done. "It does pain me, and that's the fact--I'm so
miserably selfish. And I believe it's a death-blow to
the picnics; for it's idle to deny that you were the
heart and soul of them with your wand and your gallant
bearing, and wit and humour and chivalry, and throwing
that kind of society atmosphere about the thing.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202