He thought that a man ought to be allowed
to choose where he would go and where he would not go, and that
questions such as these were very uncommon. Mr. Kennedy was sitting
opposite to him, looking more grave and more sour than usual;--and
now his own countenance also became a little solemn. It was
impossible that he should use Lady Laura's name, and yet he must, in
some way, let his persecuting friend know that no further invitation
would be of any use;--that there was something beyond mere chance
in his not going to Grosvenor Place. But how was he to do this? The
difficulty was so great that he could not see his way out of it. So
he sat silent with a solemn face. Mr. Kennedy then asked him another
question, which made the difficulty ten times greater. "Has my wife
asked you not to come to our house?"
It was necessary now that he should make a rush and get out of his
trouble in some way. "To tell you the truth, Kennedy, I don't think
she wants to see me there."
"That does not answer my question. Has she asked you not to come?"
"She said that which left on my mind an impression that she would
sooner that I did not come."
"What did she say?"
"How can I answer such a question as that, Kennedy? Is it fair to ask
it?"
"Quite fair,--I think.
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