CHAPTER XX--AFTER THE STORM
No sooner was the house clear of my cousin than I began to reckon
up, ruefully enough, the probable results of what had passed. Here
were a number of pots broken, and it looked to me as if I should
have to pay for all! Here had been this proud, mad beast goaded
and baited both publicly and privately, till he could neither hear
nor see nor reason; whereupon the gate had been set open, and he
had been left free to go and contrive whatever vengeance he might
find possible. I could not help thinking it was a pity that,
whenever I myself was inclined to be upon my good behaviour, some
friends of mine should always determine to play a piece of heroics
and cast me for the hero--or the victim--which is very much the
same. The first duty of heroics is to be of your own choosing.
When they are not that, they are nothing. And I assure you, as I
walked back to my own room, I was in no very complaisant humour:
thought my uncle and Mr. Romaine to have played knuckle-bones with
my life and prospects; cursed them for it roundly; had no wish more
urgent than to avoid the pair of them; and was quite knocked out of
time, as they say in the ring, to find myself confronted with the
lawyer.
He stood on my hearthrug, leaning on the chimney-piece, with a
gloomy, thoughtful brow, as I was pleased to see, and not in the
least as though he were vain of the late proceedings.
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