He was, in fact, ashamed for Lady Lucy; humiliated, moreover, by his own
small influence with her in a vital matter. And both shame and
humiliation took the form of tender consideration for Lady
Lucy's victim.
It did not at all diminish the value of his kindness, that--most
humanly--it largely showed itself in what many people would have
considered egotistical confessions to a charming girl. Diana found a
constant distraction, a constant interest, in listening. Her solitary
life with her scholar father had prepared her for such a friend. In the
overthrow of love and feeling, she bravely tried to pick up the threads
of the old intellectual pleasures. And both Ferrier and Chide, two of
the ablest men of their generation, were never tired of helping her thus
to recover herself. Chide was an admirable story-teller; and his mere
daily life had stored him with tales, humorous and grim; while Ferrier
talked history and poetry, as they strolled about Siena or Perugia; and,
as he sat at night among the letters of the day, had a score of
interesting or amusing comments to make upon the politics of the moment.
He reserved his "confessions," of course, for the _tete-a-tete_ of
country walks.
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