Ярмарок марнославства

Sunday After the Battle

           

           "Istherenowayoutofit,oldboy?"theCaptaincontinuedinagravetone."Isitonlysuspicion,youknow,or—orwhatisit?Anyletters?Can’tyoukeepitquiet?Bestnotmakeanynoiseaboutathingofthatsortifyoucanhelpit.""Thinkofhisonlyfindingheroutnow,"theCaptainthoughttohimself,andrememberedahundredparticularconversationsatthemess-table,inwhichMrs.Crawley’sreputationhadbeentorntoshreds.

           "There’snowaybutoneoutofit,"Rawdonreplied—"andthere’sonlyawayoutofitforoneofus,Mac—doyouunderstand?Iwasputoutoftheway—arrested—Ifound’emalonetogether.Itoldhimhewasaliarandacoward,andknockedhimdownandthrashedhim."

           "Servehimright,"Macmurdosaid."Whoisit?"

           RawdonanswereditwasLordSteyne.

           "Thedeuce!aMarquis!theysaidhe—thatis,theysaidyou—"

           "Whatthedevildoyoumean?"roaredoutRawdon;"doyoumeanthatyoueverheardafellowdoubtaboutmywifeanddidn’ttellme,Mac?"

           "Theworld’sverycensorious,oldboy,"theotherreplied."Whatthedeucewasthegoodofmytellingyouwhatanytom-foolstalkedabout?"

           "Itwasdamnedunfriendly,Mac,"saidRawdon,quiteovercome;and,coveringhisfacewithhishands,hegavewaytoanemotion,thesightofwhichcausedthetougholdcampaigneroppositehimtowincewithsympathy.

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