Philip set his
lips together, smiling bitterly at the pain it gave him. He controlled
his voice as well as he was able.
"I beg you will forgive me," said he. "I have been out of my head.
Forget my impertinence, and"--
He could not finish, but the stopping of the carriage at her door saved
him the need of farther effort.
He assisted her to alight, rang the bell, and said goodnight in a voice
which he was sure did not betray him to the coachman.
XIX
'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL
Othello, i. 3.
Poor Ashe got home more dead than alive. His passion had shaken him
like a delirium. He had been swept away by his emotion, and had thrown
to the winds past and future. He felt as the carriage drove away from
Mrs. Fenton's as if he had been swung up and down on some monstrous
wave and dashed, broken and bleeding, on a rough shore. He could not
think; and fortunately for him he was even too benumbed to feel
greatly.
He reached the Hermans' in a sort of half-stupor, in which
indifference, keen joy, and bitter contrition were strangely mingled.
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