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"Do you remember us talking of Stephen Stephen Wonham, who by an odd coincidence " "Yes. Who wrote last year to that miserable failure Varden. I do." "It is about him." "I did not like the tone of his letter." Agnes had made her first move. She waited for her husband to reply to it. But he, though full of a painful curiosity, would not speak. She moved again.
It doesn't really matter." "I suppose not, dear. But it seems a pity, considering we are so near the end of our visit." "Rudeness and Grossness matter, and I've shown both, and already I'm sorry, and I hope she'll let me apologize. But from the selfish point of view it doesn't matter a straw. She's no more to us than the Wonham boy or the boot boy." "Which way will you walk?"
"And you know Mr. Wonham?" The boy couldn't say he didn't. "Then what's your objection? Why? What is it? Why not?" But Stephen leant against the time-tables and spoke of other matters. Presently the boy said, "Did you say you'd pay my railway-ticket back, Mr. Wonham?" "Yes," said a bystander. "Didn't you hear him?" "I heard him right enough."
That drive was half a mile long, and she was praising its gravelled surface when Rickie called in a voice of alarm, "I say, when did our train arrive?" "Four-six." "I said so." "It arrived at four-six on the time-table," said Mr. Wonham. "I want to know when it got to the station?" "I tell you again it was punctual. I tell you I looked at my watch. I can do no more." Agnes was amazed.
Then she escaped, having told the truth, and yet leaving a pleasurable impression behind her. The excursion to Salisbury was but a poor business in fact, Rickie never got there. They were not out of the drive before Mr. Wonham began doing acrobatics. He showed Rickie how very quickly he could turn round in his saddle and sit with his face to Aeneas's tail.
"There's another person you hate or don't think about, if you prefer it put like that." "The truth is, I'm changing. I'm beginning to see that the world has many people in it who don't matter. I had time for them once. Not now." There was only one gate to the kingdom of heaven now. Agnes surprised him by saying, "But the Wonham boy is evidently a part of your aunt's life.
Delicacy he lacked, and his sympathies were limited. But such as they were, they rang true: he put no decorous phantom between him and his desires. "I do see. I have seen for two years." She sat down at the head of the table, where there was another ink-pot. Into this she dipped a pen. "I have seen everything, Mr. Wonham who you are, how you have behaved at Cadover, how you must have treated Mrs.
Ansell prepared himself to witness the second act of the drama; forgetting that all this world, and not part of it, is a stage. The parlour-maid took Mr. Wonham to the study. He had been in the drawing-room before, but had got bored, and so had strolled out into the garden. Now he was in better spirits, as a man ought to be who has knocked down a man.
As soon as it comes in useful you drop it." "I don't hate Aunt Emily. Honestly. But certainly I don't want to be near her or think about her. Don't you think there are two great things in life that we ought to aim at truth and kindness? Let's have both if we can, but let's be sure of having one or the other. My aunt gives up both for the sake of being funny." "And Stephen Wonham," pursued Agnes.
He was always uneasy at the word. "Who mentioned money?" "Just understand me, Herbert, and of what it is that I accuse my wife." Tears came into his eyes. "It is not that I like the Wonham man, or think that he isn't a drunkard and worse. He's too awful in every way. But he ought to have my aunt's money, because he's lived all his life with her, and is her nephew as much as I am.
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