‘You were both examining a cabinet. I saw it all; my sagacity was not at fault—it never is. Subsequently you received a letter from him. On what subject—of what nature were the contents?’

‘No matter.’

‘Ma’am, is that the way in which you speak to me?’

Shirley’s foot tapped quick on the carpet.

‘There you sit, silent and sullen—you who promised truthful replies!’

‘Sir, I have answered you thus far: proceed.’

‘I should like to see that letter.’

‘You cannot see it.’

‘I must and shall, ma’am. I am your guardian.’

‘Having ceased to be a ward, I have no guardian.’

‘Ungrateful being! Reared by me as my own daughter—’

‘Once more, uncle, have the kindness to keep to the point. Let us both remain cool. For my part, I do not wish to get into a passion; but, you know, once drive me beyond certain bounds, I care little what I say; I am not then soon checked. Listen! You have asked me whether Sir Philip made me an offer; that question is answered. What do you wish to know next?’

‘I desire to know whether you accepted or refused him, and know it I will.’

‘Certainly; you ought to know it. I refused him.’

‘Refused him! You—you, Shirley Keeldar, refused Sir Philip Nunnely?’

‘I did.’

The poor gentleman bounced from his chair, and first rushed, and then trotted, through the room.

‘There it is! there it is! there it is!’

‘Sincerely speaking, I am sorry, uncle, you are so disappointed.’

Concession—contrition—never do any good with some people. Instead of softening and conciliating, they but embolden and harden them; of that number was Mr. Sympson.

‘I disappointed? What is it to me? Have I an interest in it? You would insinuate, perhaps, that I have motives?’

‘Most people have motives of some sort for their actions.’

‘She accuses me to my face! I—that have been a parent to her—she charges with bad motives!’

‘Bad motives I did not say.’

‘And now you prevaricate. You have no principles!’

‘Uncle, you tire me; I want to go away.’