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It's civilization that interests civilization." "I hope that fact doesn't leave us out in the cold with the barbarians?" Burnamy put in, with a smile. "Do you think we are civilized?" retorted the other. "We have that superstition in Chicago," said Burnamy. He added, still smiling, "About the New-Yorkers, I mean." "You're more superstitious in Chicago than I supposed.
March prompted, at a certain inconclusiveness in her tone rather than her words. "Well, you can see that it, isn't ideal." "Why isn't it ideal? I suppose you think that the marriage of Burnamy and Agatha Triscoe will be ideal, with their ignorances and inexperiences and illusions." "Yes! It's the illusions: no marriage can be perfect without them, and at their age the Kenbys can't have them."
I been going over the damn thing, all night and you can do it for me. I know you can do it," he gave way in a plea that was almost a whimper. "Look here! You see if you can't. I'll make it all right with you. I'll pay you whatever you think is right whatever you say." "Oh!" said Burnamy, in otherwise unutterable disgust.
"No, I haven't," said Burnamy, as if he had tried and failed; till then he had not known that there was a bath-steward. "Shall I get him for you?" "No; no. Our bedroom-steward will send him, I dare say, thank you." Mr. Triscoe had got his trunk open, and Burnamy had no longer an excuse for lingering.
I couldn't help hearing; and I was perfectly astonished at you, papa, the cruel way you went on, after all you've said about Mr. Stoller, and his getting no more than he deserved." "That doesn't justify me," Burnamy began, but she cut him short almost as severely as she had dealt with her father. "Yes, it does! It justifies you perfectly!
March played upon the interest which each of them felt in his own case so artfully that she kept them talking of their cure, and left Burnamy and Miss Triscoe to a moment on the bridge, by which they profited, while the others strolled on, to lean against the parapet and watch the lights in the skies and the water, and be alone together.
He moved off with his girls, who looked over their shoulders at the officers as they passed on through the adjoining room. "My dear!" cried Mrs. March. "Didn't you suppose he classed us with Burnamy in that business? Why should he be polite to us?" "Perhaps he wants you to chaperon his daughters. He's probably heard of your performance at the Kurhaus ball.
I don't want you to ridicule me for my conscience any more, Basil; you're twice as bad as I ever was. Don't you think that a person can ever expiate an offence? I've often heard you say that if any one owned his fault, he put it from him, and it was the same as if it hadn't been; and hasn't Burnamy owned up over and over again? I'm astonished at you, dearest."
The man had already put up his shutters, and was just closing his door, but Burnamy pushed in, and asked to look at the stork-scissors they had seen in the window. The gas was out, and the shopman lighted a very dim candle, to show them. "I knew you wanted to get them for her, after what she said, Mrs. March," he laughed, nervously, "and you must let me lend you the money."
The girl took March's vacant chair, where she had her cup of bouillon, which she continued to hold untasted in her hand after the first sip. Mrs. March did the same with hers, and at the moment she had got very tired of doing it, Burnamy came by, for the hundredth time that day, and gave her a hundredth bow with a hundredth smile.
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