been based upon
criticism of me, even though he sat before me whipped with his own
lash. His temerity had been stupid and obstinate; I could not regret his
punishment.

I kept him waiting long enough to think all this, and then I replied, 'I
have not the least means of knowing.'

I can not say what he expected, but he squared his shoulders as if he
had received a blow and might receive another. Then he looked at me
with a flash of the old indignation. 'You are not near enough to her for
that!' he exclaimed.

'I am not near enough to her for that.'

Silence fell between us. A crow perched upon an opened venetian and
cawed lustily. For years afterward I never heard a crow caw without a
sense of vain, distressing experiment. Dacres got up and began to walk
about the room. I very soon put a stop to that. 'I can't talk to a
pendulum,' I said, but I could not persuade him to sit down again.

'Candidly,' he said at length, 'do you think she would have me?'

'I regret to say that I think she would. But you would not dream of
asking her.'

'Why not? She is a dear girl,' he responded inconsequently.

'You could not possibly stand it.'

Then Mr. Tottenham delivered himself of this remarkable phrase: 'I could
stand it,' he said, 'as well as you can.'

There was far from being any joy in the irony with which I regarded him
and under which I saw him gather up his resolution to go; nevertheless
I did nothing to make it easy for him. I refrained from imparting
my private conviction that Cecily would accept the first presentable
substitute that appeared, although it was strong. I made no reference to
my daughter's large fund of philosophy and small balance of sentiment. I
did not even--though this was reprehensible--confess the test, the test
of quality in these ten days with the marble archives of the Moguls,
which I had almost wantonly suggested, which he had so unconsciously
accepted, so disastrously applied. I gave him quite fifteen minutes of
his bad quarter of an hour, and when it was over I wrote truthfully but
furiously to John....

That was ten years ago. We have since attained the shades of retirement,
and our daughter is still with us when she is not with Aunt Emma and
Aunt Alice--grandmamma has passed away. Mr. Tottenham's dumb departure
that day in February--it was the year John got his C.B.--was followed,
I am thankful to say, by none of the symptoms of unrequited affection on
Cecily's part. Not for ten minu