"Dear, one moment--we may not have this chance for a chat again.
Have you seen the young one yet?"
"Yes, I have."
"What happened?"
"We met at the Rectory."
"What line is he taking up?"
"No line. He talked about Italy, like any other person. It is
really all right. What advantage would he get from being a cad,
to put it bluntly? I do wish I could make you see it my way. He
really won't be any nuisance, Charlotte."
"Once a cad, always a cad. That is my poor opinion."
Lucy paused. "Cecil said one day--and I thought it so
profound--that there are two kinds of cads--the conscious and the
subconscious." She paused again, to be sure of doing justice to
Cecil's profundity. Through the window she saw Cecil himself,
turning over the pages of a novel. It was a new one from Smith's
library. Her mother must have returned from the station.
"Once a cad, always a cad," droned Miss Bartlett.
"What I mean by subconscious is that Emerson lost his head. I
fell into all those violets, and he was silly and surprised.
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