XXII
I'm very much obliged to you for coming," he began with observing. "I hope it won't get you into trouble."
"I don't think I shall be missed. My lady, in these days, is not fond of having me about her." This was said with a dry lucidity which added to his sense of having inspired his friend with confidence.
"From the first, you know," he rejoined, "you took an interest in my prospects. You were on my side. That gratified me, I assure you. And now that you know what they've done to me I'm sure you are with me all the more."
"They've not done well—I must say it. But you must n't blame the poor Countess; they pressed her cruelly hard."
"I 'd give a million of dollars," he remarked, "to know the secret of such successful pressure as that."
Mrs. Bread sat with a dull, oblique gaze fixed on the Fleurières lights. "They worked on her sentiments, as they call em here; they knew that was the way. She's a delicate creature. They made her feel wicked. She's only too good."
"Ah, they made her feel wicked," said Newman, slowly; and then he repeated it. "They made her feel wicked—they made her feel wicked." The
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