“I can say no more. ’ ‘This is what you say of him? Me, I find he is growling all the time like a dog. I could not dream of loving you. Ennison reeled, and almost fell. Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke. You only mean a secret for a little time?” “Just for a little time,” she said; “yes. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.
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