tolerably wide circle. She had already
forgotten her exasperation against him, and she bowed and smiled
good-humouredly. The disposition of the man was then seen. He knew
neither how to decline the advance with dignity, as one whose just pride
has been wounded, nor how to meet it with frankness, as one who is glad
to forget and forgive. His punishment had impressed him with no sense of
shame, and he did not experience that feeling on encountering his
chastiser. He was not vigorous enough in evil to be actively
malignant--he merely passed by sheepishly with a rated, scowling look.
Nothing could ever again reconcile him to his enemy; while no passion of
resentment, for even sharper and more ignominious inflictions, could his
lymphatic nature know.

"He was not worth a scene!" said Shirley to Caroline. "What a fool I
was! To revenge on poor Donne his silly spite at Yorkshire is something
like crushing a gnat for attacking the hide of a rhinoceros. Had I been
a gentleman, I believe I should have helped him off the premises by dint
of physical force. I am glad now I only employed the moral weapon. But
he must come near me no more. I don't like him. He irritates me. There
is not even amusement to be had out of him. Malone is better sport."

It seemed as if Malone wished to justify the preference, for the words
were scarcely out of the speaker's mouth when Peter Augustus came up,
all in _grande tenue_, gloved and scented, with his hair oiled and
brushed to perfection, and bearing in one hand a huge bunch of
cabbage-roses, five or six in full blow. These he presented to the
heiress with a grace to which the most cunning pencil could do but
defective justice. And who, after this, could dare to say that Peter was
not a lady's man? He had gathered and he had given flowers; he had
offered a sentimental, a poetic tribute at the shrine of Love or Mammon.
Hercules holding the distaff was but a faint type of Peter bearing the
roses. He must have thought this himself, for he seemed amazed at what
he had done. He backed without a word; he was going away with a husky
chuckle of self-satisfaction; then he bethought himself to stop and
turn, to ascertain by ocular testimony that he really had presented a
bouquet. Yes, there were the six red cabbages on the purple satin lap, a
very white hand, with some gold rings on the fingers, slightly holding
them together, and streaming ringlets, half hiding a laughing face,
drooped over them. Only _h