Don't stop for my sake. I won't have it! Please live in an inn. There 's sure to be one near by."
"I 'm not going to look for it," said my brother. "You need n't worry about me. I 've got pretty callous. I shall have quarters for nothing here—you 're always preaching economy."
But I would n't be convinced. "Pooh! You 're only saying that, so that I won't think you 're sacrificing yourself for me. Do you know anything about the Roquemartines?"
"A little."
"Good gracious, I hope you 've never met them?"
"I believe I lunched here with them once three years ago, with a motoring friend of theirs."
He stated this fact so quietly, that, if I had n't begun to know him and his ways, I might have supposed him indifferent to the situation; but—I can hardly say why—I did n't suppose it. I supposed just the contrary; and I respected him, and his calmness, twenty times more than before, if that were possible. Besides, I would have loved him twenty times more, only that was impossible. How much stronger and better he was than I—I. who blurted out my every feeling! I, a stranger, felt the position almost too hateful for endurance, simply because it was ruffling to my vanity. He, an acquaintance of these people, who had been their guest, resigned himself to herding with their servants, because—yes, I knew it!—because he would not let me bear annoyances alone.
"You can't, you shan't stop in the house!" I gasped. "Leave me and the luggage. Drive the car to the nearest village."
