'You had better show
yourself,' his wife suggested; 'Monsieur Rogairs would like to see you
with us--to know that you are there.' Which meant that he was not to
interfere with the actual thanksgiving, but to countenance the
occasion with his solemn presence. And, indeed, he did not go
upstairs. He paced the road beneath the windows during the interview,
looking exactly like a professional mourner waiting for the arrival of
the hearse.
'My dear old friend--friends, I mean,' said Rogers in his fluent and
very dreadful French, 'if you only knew what a pleasure it is to
_me_--It is _I_ who should thank you for giving me the opportunity,
not you who should thank me.' The sentence broke loose utterly,
wandering among intricacies of grammar and subjunctive moods that took
his breath away as he poured it out. 'I was only afraid you would
think it unwarrantable interference. I am delighted that you let me do
it. It's such a little thing to do.'
Both ladies instantly wept. The Widow came closer with a little rush.
Whether Rogers was actually embraced, or no, it is not stated
officially.
'It is a loan, of course, it is a loan,' cried the Widow.
'It is a present,' he said firmly, loathing the scene.
'It's a part repayment for all the kindness you showed me here as a
boy years and years ago.
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