Free The Lion's Skin by Rafael Sabatini Page A

with gratitude to your shrewdness which saved me."
    "No more, I beg. It is a matter painful to you to dwell on. Let me exhort you to forget it. I have already done so."
    "That is a sweet courtesy in you."
    "I am compounded of sweet courtesy," he informed her modestly.
    His lordship spoke of departure, renewing his offer to carry Mr. Caryll to town in his chaise. Meanwhile, Mr. Caryll was behaving curiously. He was tiptoeing towards the door, along the wall,
where he was out of line with the keyhole. He reached it suddenly, and abruptly pulled it open. There was a squeal, and Mr. Green rolled forward into the room. Mr. Caryll kicked him out again
before he could rise, and called Leduc to throw him outside. And that was the last they saw of Mr. Green at Maidstone.
    They set out soon afterwards, Mr. Caryll travelling in his lordship's chaise, and Leduc following in his master's.
    It was an hour or so after candle-lighting time when they reached Croydon, the country lying all white under a full moon that sailed in a clear, calm sky. His lordship swore that he would go no
farther that night. The travelling fatigued him; indeed, for the last few miles of the journey he had been dozing in his corner of the carriage, conversation having long since been abandoned as too
great an effort on so bad a road, which shook and jolted them beyond endurance. His lordship's chaise was of an old-fashioned pattern, and the springs far from what might have been desired or
expected in a nobleman's conveyance.
    They alighted at the "Bells." His lordship bespoke supper, invited Mr. Caryll to join them, and, what time the meal was preparing, went into a noisy doze in the parlor's best chair.
    Mistress Winthrop sauntered out into the garden. The calm and fragrance of the night invited her. Alone with her thoughts, she paced the lawn a while, until her solitude was disturbed by the
advent of Mr. Caryll. He, too, had need to think, and he had come out into the peace of the night to indulge his need. Seeing her, he made as if to withdraw again; but she perceived him, and called
him to her side. He went most readily. Yet when he stood before her in an attitude of courteous deference, she was at a loss what she should say to him, or, rather, what words she should employ. At
last, with a half-laugh of nervousness, "I am by nature very inquisitive, sir," she prefaced.
    "I had already judged you to be an exceptional woman," Mr. Caryll commented softly.
    She mused an instant. "Are you never serious?" she asked him.
    "Is it worth while?" he counter-questioned, and, whether intent or accident, he let her see something of himself. "Is it even amusing—to be serious?"
    "Is there in life nothing but amusement?"
    "Oh, yes—but nothing so vital. I speak with knowledge. The gift of laughter has been my salvation."
    "From what, sir?"
    "Ah—who shall say that? My history and my rearing have been such that had I bowed before them, I had become the most gloomy, melancholy man that steps this gloomy, melancholy world. By now
I might have found existence insupportable, and so—who knows?—I might have set a term to it. But I had the wisdom to prefer laughter. Humanity is a delectable spectacle if we but have the
gift to observe it in a dispassionate spirit. Such a gift have I cultivated. The squirming of the human worm is interesting to observe, and the practice of observing it has this advantage, that
while we observe it we forget to squirm ourselves."
    "The bitterness of your words belies their purport."
    He shrugged and smiled. "But proves my contention. That I might explain myself, you made me for a moment serious, set me squirming in my turn."
    She moved a little, and he fell into step beside her. A little while there was silence.
    Presently—"You find me, no doubt, as amusing as any other of your human worms," said she.
    "God forbid!" he answered soberly.
    She laughed. "You make an exception in my case, then. That is a subtle flattery!"
    "Have I not said