” He dropped his eye-glass with a clatter. ‘And I do not know why you are so polite, when you have been bad to me last night, and have taken my dagger. And for many years, that was the way it was. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. Without her, it was lonely. It was impulsive and natural. I am not come here to play the part of your father-confessor. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill.
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