Mary looked troubled, and for a while was silent. Then she said
stammeringly:

"I--I don't think it would have done for you to--to--One mustn't
--er--public opinion--one has to be so careful--so--" It was a difficult
road, and she got mired; but after a little she got started again. "It
was a great pity, but--Why, we couldn't afford it, Edward--we couldn't
indeed. Oh, I wouldn't have had you do it for anything!"

"It would have lost us the good-will of so many people, Mary; and
then--and then--"

"What troubles me now is, what HE thinks of us, Edward."

"He? HE doesn't suspect that I could have saved him."

"Oh," exclaimed the wife, in a tone of relief, "I am glad of that. As
long as he doesn't know that you could have saved him, he--he--well that
makes it a great deal better. Why, I might have known he didn't know,
because he is always trying to be friendly with us, as little
encouragement as we give him. More than once people have twitted me with
it. There's the Wilsons, and the Wilcoxes, and the Harknesses, they take
a mean pleasure in saying 'YOUR FRIEND Burgess,' because they know it
pesters me. I wish he wouldn't persist in liking us so; I can't think
why he keeps it up."

"I can explain it. It's another confession. When the thing was new and
hot, and the town made a plan to ride him on a rail, my conscience hurt
me so that I couldn't stand it, and I went privately and gave him notice,