ToC Mr. At table he carved in a gloomy but resolute manner. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. It was really very nice of you, but to-morrow you will laugh at it as I do now.
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