Life's Little Ironies

ns with whom the absolute gratuitousness of an act of reparation is an inducement to perform it; while exhortation as to its necessity would

person can be who has no occupation but the study of how to keep himself employed. He turned almost always to the right on getting to the end of his street, then he went onward down Bond Street to his club, whence he returned by precisely the same course about six o'clock, on foot; or, if he went to dine, lat

nything to impart. From his casual remarks it was generally understood that he was country-born, a native of some place in Wessex; that he had come to London as a young man in a banking-house, and had r

from the adjoining medical quarter, and smoked with him over the fire. The patient's ailme

life, causes that dissatisfaction-the recollection of an unfulfilled promise made twenty years ago. In ordinary affairs I have always been considered a man of my word and perhaps it is on that account that a particular vow I once made, and did not keep, comes back to me with a magnitude out of all proportion (I d

s eyes, though fixed on the fire, were really reg

somewhat similar kind has brought it back again vividly. However, what it was I can tell you in a few words, though no doubt you, as a man of the world, will smile at the thinness of my skin when you hear it . . . I came up to t

old s

ther

ounds, which I would repay you next midsummer, and I did not repay you, I should consider myself a shabby sort of fellow, especially if you wanted the money badly. Yet I promised that girl just as distinctly; and then coolly broke my word, as if doing so were rather smart conduct than a mean action, for which the poor victim herself, encumbered with a child, and not I, had re

sands of men would have forgotten all about it; so would you, p

I go down into that part of the country, but in passing through Exonbury, on one occasion, I learnt that she was quite a settled resident there, as a teacher of music, or something of

d live?' aske

cannot say if she is living now. It was a little girl

s she a decent, wo

n at the time of our acquaintance was not so good as mine. My father was a solicitor, as I think I have told you. She was a y

ess by this time mended itself. You had better dismiss it from your mind as an evil past your control. Of course, if mot

is not the point. Were I ever so rich I feel I could not rectify the past by money. I did not promise to enrich her.

,' said the doctor jocul

instinct, and habit, and everything. Besides, though I respect her still (for she was not an atom to blame), I haven't any shadow of love for her. In my mind she exists as o

it seriously?' said

ere practicable; simply, as I say, to re

soon be out of that chair, and then you can put your impulse to