It had
become a kind of game; I was curious to see whether he would ever
develop sufficient hardihood to take the bull by the horns. After
all, from a conventional point of view, my conduct was quite
justifiable. I always meant to do better by him next time, and then I
always deferred it to the next. But, from a conventional point of
view, my conduct was quite unassailable. I said this to myself when I
had momentary qualms of conscience. Now, rather late in the day, it
strikes me that the conventional point of view should have been
re-adjusted to the special case. I should have allowed for his
personal equation.
My cousin Wilford came to Biarritz about this time, stopping for a
week, on his way home from a tour in Spain. I couldn't find a room for
him at the Hotel d'Angleterre, so he put up at a rival hostelry over
the way; but he dined with me on the evening of his arrival, a place
being made for him between mine and Monsieur's. He hadn't been at the
table five minutes before the rumour went abroad who he was--somebody
had recognised him. Then those who were within reach of his voice
listened with all their ears--Colonel Escott, Flaherty, Maistre, and
Miss Hicks, of course, who even called him by name: 'Oh, Mr.
Wilford,' 'Now, Mr. Wilford,' &c. After dinner, in the smoking-room,
a cluster of people hung round us; men with whom I had no acquaintance
came merrily up and asked to be introduced.
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