"You don't mean to say you have forgotten the connection?"
She cried readily enough: "I wasn't thinking." And then, while I
wondered what could have been the images occupying her brain at this
time, she asked me: "You didn't see my letter to Mrs. Fyne--did you?"
"No. I didn't," I shouted. Just then the racket was distracting, a pair-
horse trolly lightly loaded with loose rods of iron passing slowly very
near us. "I wasn't trusted so far." And remembering Mrs. Fyne's hints
that the girl was unbalanced, I added: "Was it an unreserved confession
you wrote?"
She did not answer me for a time, and as I waited I thought that there's
nothing like a confession to make one look mad; and that of all
confessions a written one is the most detrimental all round. Never
confess! Never, never! An untimely joke is a source of bitter regret
always. Sometimes it may ruin a man; not because it is a joke, but
because it is untimely. And a confession of whatever sort is always
untimely. The only thing which makes it supportable for a while is
curiosity. You smile? Ah, but it is so, or else people would be sent to
the rightabout at the second sentence.
Pages:
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334