He said:
"I didn't mean so bad as that, Aleck; I didn't really mean
immoral piety, I only meant--meant--well, conventional piety,
you know; er--shop piety; the--the--why, YOU know what I mean.
Aleck--the--well, where you put up that plated article and play
it for solid, you know, without intending anything improper,
but just out of trade habit, ancient policy, petrified custom,
loyalty to--to--hang it, I can't find the right words, but YOU
know what I mean, Aleck, and that there isn't any harm in it.
I'll try again. You see, it's this way. If a person--"
"You have said quite enough," said Aleck, coldly; "let the subject
be dropped."
"I'M willing," fervently responded Sally, wiping the sweat from
his forehead and looking the thankfulness he had no words for.
Then, musingly, he apologized to himself. "I certainly held threes
--I KNOW it--but I drew and didn't fill. That's where I'm so often
weak in the game. If I had stood pat--but I didn't. I never do.
I don't know enough."
Confessedly defeated, he was properly tame now and subdued.
Aleck forgave him with her eyes.
The grand interest, the supreme interest, came instantly to the
front again; nothing could keep it in the background many minutes
on a stretch. The couple took up the puzzle of the absence
of Tilbury's death-notice. They discussed it every which way,
more or less hopefully, but they had to finish where they began,
and concede that the only really sane explanation of the absence
of the notice must be--and without doubt was--that Tilbury was
not dead.
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