vexednomore.Shewon’tevenbeangrywithyou.Yousee,youhavedoneusnoharminthelongrun.Unless,ofcourse,youtalkaboutHarrietandmakeascandal.Sothatismyplan—Londonandwork.Whatisyours?”
“PoorHarriet!”saidMissAbbott.“AsifIdarejudgeHarriet!Oranybody.”AndwithoutreplyingtoPhilip’squestionshelefthimtovisittheotherinvalid.
Philipgazedafterhermournfully,andthenhelookedmournfullyoutofthewindowatthedecreasingstreams.Alltheexcitementwasover—theinquest,Harriet’sshortillness,hisownvisittothesurgeon.Hewasconvalescent,bothinbodyandspirit,butconvalescencebroughtnojoy.Inthelooking-glassattheendofthecorridorhesawhisfacehaggard,andhisshoulderspulledforwardbytheweightofthesling.Lifewasgreaterthanhehadsupposed,butitwasevenlesscomplete.Hehadseentheneedforstrenuousworkandforrighteousness.Andnowhesawwhataverylittlewaythosethingswouldgo.
“IsHarrietgoingtobeallright?”heasked.MissAbbotthadcomebacktohim.
“Shewillsoonbeheroldself,”wasthereply.ForHarriet,afterashortparoxysmofillnessandremorse,wasquicklyreturningtohernormalstate.Shehadbeen“thoroughlyupset”asshephrasedit,butshesoonceasedtorealizethatanythingwaswrongbeyondthedeathofapoorlittlechild.Alreadyshespokeof“thisunluckyaccident,”and“themysteriousfrustrationofone’sattemptstomakethingsbetter.”MissAbbotthadseenthatshewascomfortable,andhadgivenherakindkiss.ButshereturnedfeelingthatHarriet,likehermother,consideredtheaffairassettled.
“I’mclearenoughaboutHarriet’sfuture,andaboutpartsofmyown.ButIaskagain,Whataboutyours?”
“Sawstonandwork,”saidMissAbbott.
“No.”
“Whynot?”sheasked,smiling.
“You’veseentoomuch.You’veseenasmuchanddonemorethanIhave.”
“Butit’ssodifferent.OfcourseIshallgotoSawston.Youforgetmyfatherandevenifhewasn’tthere,I’veahundredties:mydistrict—I’mneglectingitshamefully—myeveningclasses,theSt.James’—”
“Sillynonsense!”heexploded,suddenlymovedtohavethewholethingoutw