her."

"Oh no, you don't; you never did." And he gave a little significant
laugh.

I didn't feel like facing the _ci-devant_ Scarabelli at that moment; so I
said that I was leaving the house, but that I would do myself the honour
of calling upon his wife. We talked for a minute of something else, and
then, suddenly breaking off and looking at me, he laid his hand on my
arm. I must do him the justice to say that he looks felicitous.

"Depend upon it you were wrong!" he said.

"My dear young friend," I answered, "imagine the alacrity with which I
concede it."

Something else again was spoken of, but in an instant he repeated his
movement.

"Depend upon it you were wrong."

"I am sure the Countess has forgiven me," I said, "and in that case you
ought to bear no grudge. As I have had the honour to say, I will call
upon her immediately."

"I was not alluding to my wife," he answered. "I was thinking of your
own story."

"My own story?"

"So many years ago. Was it not rather a mistake?"

I looked at him a moment; he's positively rosy.

"That's not a question to solve in a London crush."

And I turned away.

22d.--I haven't yet called on the _ci-devant_; I am afraid of finding her
at home. And that boy's words have been thrumming in my ears--"Depend
upon it you were wrong. Wasn't it rather a mistake?" _Was_ I
wrong--_was_ it a mistake? Was I too cautions--too suspicious--too
logical? Was it really a protector she needed--a man who might have
helped her? Would it have been for his benefit to believe in her, and
was her fault only that I had forsaken her? Was the poor woman very
unhappy? God forgive me, how the questions come crowding in! If I
marred her happiness, I certainly didn't make my own. And I might have
made it--eh? That's a charming discovery for a man of my age!

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A MAN OF FIFTY***

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