That poor chap was doing his steadfast duty too. He knew that the
Guggenheimers of Chicago, after they had stayed there a month
and had worried the poor life out of him, would give him two
dollars fifty and grumble at the tipping system. And he knew that
Teddy Ashburnham and his wife would give him no trouble
whatever except what the smiles of Leonora might cause in his
apparently unimpressionable bosom--though you never can tell
what may go on behind even a not quite spotless plastron! --And
every week Edward Ashburnham would give him a solid, sound,
golden English sovereign. Yet this stout fellow was intent on
saving that table for the Guggenheimers of Chicago. It ended in
Florence saying:
"Why shouldn't we all eat out of the same trough? --that's a nasty
New York saying. But I'm sure we're all nice quiet people and
there can be four seats at our table. It's round."
Then came, as it were, an appreciative gurgle from the Captain and
I was perfectly aware of a slight hesitation--a quick sharp motion
in Mrs Ashburnham, as if her horse had checked. But she put it at
the fence all right, rising from the seat she had taken and sitting
down opposite me, as it were, all in one motion.
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