In short,
Stallbridge-Minster was one of those towns which appear
to be maintained by England for the instruction and
delight of the American rambler; to which he seems
guided by an instinct not less surprising than the
setter's; and which he visits and quits with equal
enthusiasm.
I was not at all in the humour of the tourist. I had
wasted weeks of time and accomplished nothing; we were
on the eve of the engagement, and I had neither plans
nor allies. I had thrust myself into the trade of
private providence, and amateur detective; I was
spending money and I was reaping disgrace. All the
time I kept telling myself that I must at least speak;
that this ignominious silence should have been broken
long ago, and must be broken now. I should have broken
it when he first proposed to come to Stallbridge-
Minster; I should have broken it in the train; I should
break it there and then, on the inn doorstep, as the
omnibus rolled off. I turned toward him at the
thought; he seemed to wince, the words died on my lips,
and I proposed instead that we should visit the
Minster.
Pages:
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499