I am sorry if I have led you to believe that I acted so bold, so
shameless a part."
"Oh, Miss Carmichael, forgive me. I'm stupid, as I said, but, as the
Bible has it, I'll try and keep a watch on the door of my lips in
future. And you such an angel of mercy, too! Please, Miss Carmichael,
pardon a blundering Irishman."
"Nonsense," she answered. "I have nothing to pardon; only, I did not
want you to misunderstand me." The gloves were on, and she shook hands
with him, and laughed a comical little insincere laugh in his face, and
ran away to her own room to have a foolish little cry. She heard her
friend Cecile reading poetry to the wounded Wilkinson, and, looking out
of her window, saw Mr. Perrowne helping her uncle to lift the doctor's
chair out into the garden, and her mother, freed from conversation with
the madwoman, plucking a flower for Mr. Errol's coat. There, too, was a
young man, his hands encased in black kid gloves, sitting down on a
bench with Mr. Terry, and with difficulty filling a meerschaum pipe. She
thought he had a quiet, disappointed look, like a man's whose warm,
generous impulses have been checked, and she felt guilty.
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