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This speech, uttered in a voice slightly shaken by agitation, went to Barrington’s heart. There was not a sentiment in his nature so certain to respond to a call upon it as this one of sympathy with the beaten man; the weaker side was always certain of his adherence. With a nice tact Stapylton said no more, but, pushing open the window, walked out upon the smooth sward, on which a faint moonlight flickered. He had shot his bolt, and saw it as it quivered in his victim’s flesh. Barrington was after him in an instant, and, drawing an arm within his he said in a low voice, “You may count upon me.”

Stapylton wrung his hand warmly, without speaking. After walking for a few moments, side by side, he said: “I must be frank with you, Mr. Barrington. I have little time and no taste for circumlocution; I cannot conceal from myself that I am no favorite with your sister. I was not as eager as I ought to have been to cultivate her good opinion; I was a little piqued at what I thought mere injustices on her part, – small ones, to be sure, but they wounded me, and with a temper that always revolted against a wrong, I resented them, and I fear me, in doing so, I jeopardized her esteem. If she is as generous as her brother, she will not remember these to me in my day of defeat. Women, however, have their own ideas of mercy, as they have of everything, and she may not choose to regard me as you have done.”

“I suspect you are wrong about this,” said Harrington, breaking in.

“Well, I wish I may be; at all events, I must put the feeling to the test at once, for I have formed my plan, and mean to begin it immediately.”

“And what is it?”

“Very few words will tell it. I intend to go on half-pay, or sell out if that be refused me; set out for India by the next mail, and, with what energy remains to me, vindicate your son’s claim. I have qualifications that will make me better than a better man. I am well versed in Hindostanee, and a fair Persian scholar; I have a wide acquaintance with natives of every rank, and I know how and where to look for information. It is not my disposition to feel over-sanguine, but I would stake all I possess on my success, for I see exactly the flaws in the chain, and I know where to go to repair them. You have witnessed with what ardor I adopted the suit before; but you cannot estimate the zeal with which I throw myself into it now —now that, like George Barring-ton himself, I am a man wronged, outraged, and insulted.” For a few seconds be seemed overcome by passion and unable to continue; then he went on: “If your granddaughter will accept me, it is my intention to settle on her all I possess. Our marriage can be private, and she shall be free to accompany me or to remain here, as she likes.”

“But how can all this be done so hurriedly? You talk of starting at once.”

“I must, if I would save your son’s cause. The India Board are sending out their emissaries to Calcutta, and I must anticipate them – if I cannot do more, by gaining them over to us on the voyage out. It is a case for energy and activity, and I want to employ both.”

“The time is very short for all this,” said Barrington, again.

“So it is, sir, and so are the few seconds which may rescue a man from drowning! It is in the crisis of my fate that I ask you to stand by me.”

“But have you any reason to believe that my granddaughter will hear you favorably? You are almost strangers to each other?”

“If she will not give me the legal right to make her my heir, I mean to usurp the privilege. I have already been with a lawyer for that purpose. My dear sir,” added he, passionately, “I want to break with the past forever! When the world sets up its howl against a man, the odds are too great! To stand and defy it he must succumb or retreat. Now, I mean to retire, but with the honors of war, mark you.”

“My sister will never consent to it,” muttered Barrington.

“Will you? Have I the assurance of your support?”

“I can scarcely venture to say ‘yes,’ and yet I can’t bear to say ‘no’ to you!”

“This is less than I looked for from you,” said Stapylton, mournfully.

“I know Dinah so well. I know how hopeless it would be to ask her concurrence to this plan.”

“She may not take the generous view of it; but there is a worldly one worth considering,” said Stapylton, bitterly.

“Then, sir, if you count on that, I would not give a copper half-penny for your chance of success!” cried Barrington, passionately.

“You have quite misconceived me; you have wronged me altogether,” broke in Stapylton, in a tone of apology; for he saw the mistake he had made, and hastened to repair it. “My meaning was this – ”

“So much the better. I’m glad I misunderstood you. But here come the ladies. Let us go and meet them.”

“One word, – only one word. Will you befriend me?”

“I will do all that I can, – that is, all that I ought,” said Barrington, as he led him away, and re-entered the cottage.

“I will not meet them to-night,” said Stapylton, hurriedly. “I am nervous and agitated. I will say good-night now.”

This was the second time within a few days that Stapylton had shown an unwillingness to confront Miss Barrington, and Peter thought over it long and anxiously. “What can he mean by it?” said he, to himself. “Why should he be so frank and outspoken with me, and so reserved with her? What can Dinah know of him? What can she suspect, that is not known to me? It is true they never did like each other, – never ‘hit it off’ together; but that is scarcely his fault. My excellent sister throws away little love on strangers, and opens every fresh acquaintance with a very fortifying prejudice against the newly presented. However it happens,” muttered he, with a sigh, “she is not often wrong, and I am very seldom right;” and, with this reflection, he turned once again to resume his walk in the garden.

CHAPTER XII. A DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT

Stapylton did not make his appearance at breakfast; he sent down a message that he had passed a feverish night, and begged that Dr. Dill might be sent for. Though Barrington made two attempts to see his guest, the quietness of the room on each occasion implied that he was asleep, and, fearing to disturb him, he went downstairs again on tiptoe.

“This is what the persecution has done, Dinah,” said he. “They have brought that stout-hearted fellow so low that he may be the victim of a fever to-morrow.”

“Nonsense, Peter. Men of courage don’t fall sick because the newspapers calumniate them. They have other things on their minds than such puny attacks.”

“So he may, likely enough, too. He is bent heart and soul on what I told you last night, and I ‘m not surprised if he never closed his eyes thinking of it.”

“Neither did I!” said she, curtly, and left the room.

The doctor was not long in arriving, and, after a word or two with Barrington, hastened to the patient’s room.

“Are we alone?” asked Stapylton, cutting short the bland speech with which Dill was making his approaches. “Draw that curtain a bit, and take a good look at me. Are my eyes bloodshot? Are the pupils dilated? I had a bad sunstroke once; see if there be any signs of congestion about me.”

“No, I see none. A little flushed; your pulse, too, is accelerated, and the heart’s action is labored – ”

“Never mind the heart; if the head be well, it will take care of it. Reach me that pocket-book; I want to acquit one debt to you before I incur another. No humbug between us;” and he pressed some notes into the other’s palm as he spoke. “Let us understand each other fully, and at once. I ‘m not very ill; but I want you.”

“And I am at your orders.”

“Faithfully, – loyally?”

“Faithfully, – loyally!” repeated the other after him.

“You’ve read the papers lately, – you’ve seen these attacks on me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what do they say and think here – I mean in this house – about them? How do they discuss them? Remember, I want candor and frankness; no humbug. I’ll not stand humbug.”

“The women are against you.”

“Both of them?”

“Both.”

“How comes that? – on what grounds?”

“The papers accused you of cruelty; they affirmed that there was no cause for the measures of severity you adopted; and they argued – ”

“Don’t bore me with all that balderdash. I asked you how was it that these women assumed I was in the wrong?”

“And I was about to tell you, if you had not interrupted me.”

“That is, they believed what they read in the newspapers?”

“Yes.”

“And, of course, swallowed that fine story about the Hindoo fellow that I first cut down, and afterwards bribed to make his escape from the hospital?”

“I suspect they half believed it.”

“Or rather, believed half of it, the cutting down part! Can you tell me physiologically, – for I think it comes into that category, – why it is that women not otherwise ill-natured, in nine cases out of ten take the worst alternative as the credible one? But never mind that. They condemn me. Is n’t it so?”

“Yes; and while old Barrington insists – ”

“Who cares what he insists? Such advocacy as his only provokes attack, and invites persecution. I ‘d rather have no such allies!”

“I believe you are right.”

“I want fellows like yourself, doctor, – sly, cautious, subtle fellows, – accustomed to stealing strong medicines into the system in small doses; putting the patient, as you call it in your slang, ‘under the influence’ of this, that, and t’other, – eh?”

Dill smiled blandly at the compliment to his art, and Stapylton went on: —

“Not that I have time just now for this sort of chronic treatment. I need a heroic remedy, doctor. I ‘m in love.”

“Indeed!” said Dill, with an accent nicely balanced between interest and incredulity.

“Yes, and I want to marry!

“Miss Barrington?”

“The granddaughter. There is no need, I hope, to make the distinction, for I don’t wish to be thought insane. Now you have the case. What ‘s your prescription?”

“Propose for her!”

“So I have, but they hesitate. The old man is not unfavorable; he is, perhaps, more: he is, in a measure, friendly; but what avails such advocacy? I want another guess sort of aid, – a clever man; or, what is better still, a clever woman, to befriend me.”

He waited some seconds for a reply, but Dill did not speak; so he went on: “A clever woman, to take a woman’s view of the case, balancing this against that, never ignoring an obstacle, but inquiring what there may be to compensate for it Do you know such a one, doctor?”

“Perhaps I may; but I have my doubts about securing her services.”

“Even with a retainer?”

“Even with a retainer. You see, Major,” – here Dill dropped his voice to a most confidential whisper, – “my daughter Polly, – for I know we both have her in mind, – Polly is a strange sort of girl, and very hard to understand; for while, if the case were her own, she ‘d no more think of romance than she would of giving ten guineas for a dress, if she was advising another whose position and prospects were higher than hers, it’s the romantic part of it she’d lay all the stress on.”

“From which I gather that my suit will not stand this test!” said Stapylton, with a peculiar smile. “Eh, is n’t that your meaning?”

“You are certainly some years older than the lady,” said Dill, blandly.

“Not old enough to be, as the world would surely say, ‘her father,’ but fully old enough to give license for sarcasm.”

“Then, as she will be a great fortune – ”

“Not a sixpence, – she’ll not have sixpence, doctor. That bubble has burst at last, and can never be blown again. The whole claim has been rejected, refused, thrown out, and there ‘s an end of it. It amuses the old man to sit on the wreck and fancy he can repair the shattered timbers and make them seaworthy; and, for the time he is likely to last, it is only kindness to leave him to his delusion; but he is ruined, – ruined beyond recall, and as I have told you, the girl will have nothing.”

“Do they know this, – has Barrington heard it?”

“Yes, I broke it to him last night, but I don’t think he fully realized the tidings; he has certain reserves – certain little conceits of his own – which are to supply him with a sort of hope; but let us talk of something more practical. How can we secure Miss Dill’s services?”

“A few days ago, the easiest way would have been to offer to befriend her brother, but this morning brings us news that this is not needed, – he is coming home.”

“How so?”

“It is a great event in its way; at least, it may be for Tom. It seems there was a collision at sea, somewhere near the Cape, between the ship ‘St. Helen’s,’ that carried out General Hunter and his staff, and the ‘Regulus,’ with the Forty-ninth on board. It was at night, and a terrible sea on at the time. In the shock the ‘St. Helen’s’ took fire; and as the two ships were inextricably locked together, the danger was common to each. While the boats were being lowered and manned, – for it was soon seen the vessel could not be saved, – a cry was raised that the fire was gaining on the fore-hold, and would soon reach the magazine. The woful news spread at once, and many jumped overboard in their terror. Just then Tom heard that there was a means of drowning the powder by opening a certain sluice, and, without waiting for more, he clambered across into the sinking vessel, made his way through smoke and fire, gained the spot, and succeeded, just as the very ladder itself had caught the flames. How he got back he cannot tell, for the vessel foundered in a few minutes, and he was so burned – face, cheek, and one shoulder – that he was unconscious of everything; and even when the account came, was still in bed, and not able to see.”

“He was a wild sort of lad, was he not, – a scamp, in short?”

“No, not exactly that; idle – careless – kept bad company at times.”

“These are the fellows who do this kind of thing once in their lives, – mark you, never twice. They never have more than one shot in their locker, but it will suffice in this case.”

Though the worthy doctor was very far from enthusiastic about his son’s gallantry, there was a degree of coolness in the Major’s estimate of it that almost shocked him; and he sat staring steadily at the stern bronzed face, and the hard lineaments of the man, and wondering of what strange stuff such natures were fashioned.

“It’s quite clear, then, that for Master Tom we can do nothing half so good as chance has done for him,” said Stapylton, after a short interval.

“Chance and himself too,” added the doctor.

Stapylton made no answer, but, covering his eyes with his hand, lay deep in thought.

“If you only had the Attorney-General, Mr. Withering, on your side,” said Dill. “There is no man has the same influence over this family.”

“It is not what you call influence I want, my good sir. It is a far more subtle and more delicate agent. I require the sort of aid, in fact, which your daughter could supply, if she would. An appointment awaits me in India, but I must occupy it at once. I have no time for a long courtship. I ‘m just as hurried as that boy of yours was when he swamped the powder-magazine. It’s a skirmish where I can’t wait for the heavy artillery, but must do my best with the light field-guns, – do you understand me?”

Dill nodded, and Stapylton resumed: “The thing can be done just by the very road that you have pronounced impossible, – that is, by the romantic side of it, – making it a case of violent love at first sight, the passion of a man past the heyday of youth, but yet young enough to feel a most ardent affection. I am, besides,” said he, laughing with a strange blending of levity and sarcasm, “a sort of Brummagem hero; have been wounded, led assaults, and that kind of thing, to a degree that puffery can take the benefit of. And, last of all, doctor, I am rich enough to satisfy greater ambitions than ought to live under such a roof as this. Do you see the part your daughter can take in this drama?”

“Perhaps I do.”

“And could you induce her to accept it?”

“I’m not very certain, – I’d be slow to pledge myself to it.”

“Certainly,” said Stapylton, mockingly; “the passing glimpses we bachelors obtain of the working of that vaunted institution, The Family, fail to impress us with all its imputed excellence; you are, it seems to me, just as powerless within your own doors as I am regarding what goes on in a neighbor’s house. I take it, however, that it can’t be helped. Children, like colonies, are only governable when helpless.”

“I suspect you are wrong, sir; at least, I fancy I have as much of the sort of influence you speak of as others; but still, I think, here, in this particular case, you would yourself be your best ambassador, if you were strong enough to come down with me in the boat to-day.”

“Of course I am!” cried Stapylton, starting up to a sitting posture; “and what then?”

“You would be better in my house than this,” said Dill, mysteriously.

“Speak out, and speak clearly, doctor; I have very little the matter with me, and am in no want of change of air. What I need is the assistance of one dexterous enough to advocate my plans with persons and in places to which I have no access. Your daughter is just such a one, – will she do it?”

“We can ask her.”

“Well, how will you explain my absence to these people here? What will you say for my not appearing at breakfast, and yet being able to take an airing with you?”

“I will put it on hygienic grounds,” said Dill, smiling acutely. “My profession has a number of sanctuaries the profane vulgar can never enter. I ‘ll just step down now and ask Barrington to lend me his boat, and I ‘ll throw out a dark hint that I ‘d like to manage a consultation on your case without alarming you, for which purpose I ‘d ask Dr. Tobin to be at my house, when we arrive there, by mere accident, so that a conference would follow as a matter of course.”

“Very wily, – very subtle all this, doctor. Do you know, I ‘m half frightened at the thought of trusting myself to such a master of intrigue and mystification.”

“Have no fears; I reserve all my craft for my clients.” And with this he left the room, but only for a few minutes; for he met Barrington on the stairs, and speedily obtained permission to take his boat to Inistioge, having first pledged himself to come back with Stapylton to dinner.

“We shall see, we shall see,” muttered Stapylton to himself. “Your daughter must decide where I am to dine today.”

By the way – that is, as they glided along the bright river – Dill tried to prepare Stapylton for the task before him, by sundry hints as to Polly’s temper and disposition, with warnings against this, and cautions about that. “Above all,” said he, “don’t try to overreach her.”

“Perfect frankness – candor itself – is my device. Won’t that do?”

“You must first see will she believe it,” said the doctor, slyly; and for the remainder of the way there was a silence between them.

CHAPTER XIII. CROSS-PURPOSES

“Where ‘s Miss Polly?” said Dill, hastily, as he passed his threshold

“She’s making the confusion of roses in the kitchen, sir,” said the maid, whose chemistry had been a neglected study.

“Tell her that I have come back, and that there is a gentleman along with me,” said he, imperiously, as he led the way into his study. “I have brought you into this den of mine, Major, because I would just say one word more by way of caution before you see Polly. You may imagine, from the small range of her intercourse with the world, and her village life, that her acuteness will not go very far; don’t be too sure of that, – don’t reckon too much on her want of experience.”

“I suppose I have encountered as sharp wits as hers before this time o’ day,” replied he, half peevishly; and then, with an air of better temper, added, “I have no secrets to hide, no mystery to cloak. If I want her alliance, she shall herself dictate the terms that shall requite it.”

The doctor shook his head dubiously, but was silent.

“I half suspect, my good doctor,” said Stapylton, laughing, “that your charming daughter is a little, a very little, of a domestic despot; you are all afraid of her; never very sure of what she will say or do or think on any given circumstances, and nervously alive to the risk of her displeasure.”

“There is something in what you say,” remarked Dill, with a sigh; “but it was always my mistake to bring up my children with too much liberty of action. From the time they were so high” – and he held his hand out about a yard above the floor – “they were their own masters.”

Just as the words had fallen from him, a little chubby, shock-headed fellow, about five years old, burst into the room, which he believed unoccupied, and then, suddenly seeing his papa, set up a howl of terror that made the house ring.

“What is it, Jimmy, – what is it, my poor man?” said Polly, rushing with tucked-up sleeves to the spot; and, catching him up in her arms, she kissed him affectionately.

“Will you take him away? – will you take him out of that?” hissed out Dill between his teeth. “Don’t you see Major Stapylton here?”

“Oh, Major Stapylton will excuse a toilette that was never intended for his presence.”

“I will certainly say there could not be a more becoming one, nor a more charming tableau to display it in!”

“There, Jimmy,” said she, laughing; “you must have some bread and jam for getting me such a nice compliment.”

And she bore away the still sobbing urchin, who, burying his head in her bosom, could never summon courage to meet his father’s eye.

“What a spacious garden you appear to have here!” said Stapylton, who saw all the importance of a diversion to the conversation.

“It is a very much neglected one,” said Dill, pathetically. “My poor dear boy Tom used to take care of it when he was here; he had a perfect passion for flowers.”

Whether that Tom was associated in the Major’s mind with some other very different tastes or not, Stapylton smiled slightly, and after a moment said, “If you permit me, I ‘ll take a stroll through your garden, and think over what we have been talking of.”

“Make yourself at home in every respect,” said Dill. “I have a few professional calls to make in the village, but we ‘ll meet at luncheon.”

“He’s in the garden, Polly,” said Dill, as he passed his daughter on the stairs; “he came over here this morning to have a talk with you.”

“Indeed, sir!”

“Yes; he has got it into his head that you can be of service to him.”

“It is not impossible, sir; I think I might.”

“I’m glad to bear it, Polly; I’m delighted to see you take a good sensible view of things. I need not tell you he’s a knowing one.”

“No, sir. But, as I have heard you card-players say, ‘he shows his hand.’”

“So he does, Polly; but I have known fellows do that just to mislead the adversary.”

“Sorry adversaries that could be taken in so easily.” And with a saucy toss of her head she passed on, scarcely noticing the warning gesture of her father’s finger as she went.

When she had found her work-basket and supplied herself with the means of occupying her fingers for an hour or so, she repaired to the garden and took her seat under a large elm, around whose massive trunk a mossy bench ran, divided by rustic-work into a series of separate places.

“What a churlish idea it was to erect these barricades, Miss Dill!” said Stapylton as he seated himself at her side; “how unpicturesque and how prudish!”

“It was a simple notion of my brother Tom’s,” said she, smiling, “who thought people would not be less agreeable by being reminded that they had a place of their own, and ought not to invade that of their neighbor.”

“What an unsocial thought!”

“Poor Tom! A strange reproach to make against you,” said she, laughing out.

“By the way, has n’t he turned out a hero, – saved a ship and all she carried from the flames, – and all at the hazard of his own life?”

“He has done a very gallant thing; and, what’s more, I ‘ll venture to say there is not a man who saw it thinks so little of it as himself.”

“I suppose that every brave man has more or less of that feeling.”

“I’m glad to learn this fact from such good authority,” said she, with a slight bend of the head.

“A prettily turned compliment, Miss Dill. Are you habitually given to flattery?”

“No? I rather think not. I believe the world is pleased to call me more candid than courteous.”

“Will you let me take you at the world’s estimate, – that is, will you do me the inestimable favor to bestow a little of this same candor upon me?”

“Willingly. What is to be the subject of it?”

“The subject is a very humble one, – myself!”

“How can I possibly adjudicate on such a theme?”

“Better than you think for, perhaps!” And for a moment he appeared awkward and ill at ease. “Miss Dill,” said he, after a pause, “fortune has been using me roughly of late; and, like all men who deem themselves hardly treated, I fly at once to any quarter where I fancy I have found a more kindly disposition towards me. Am I indulging a self-delusion in believing that such sentiments are yours?”

Polly Dill, with her own keen tact, had guessed what was the real object of Stapylton’s visit. She had even read in her father’s manner how he himself was a shareholder in the scheme, and she had made up her mind for a great frankness on each side; but now, seeing the diplomatic mys-teriousness with which the Major opened his attack, that love of mischievous drollery which entered into her nature suggested a very different line. She determined, in fact, to seem to accept the Major’s speech as the preliminary to an offer of his hand. She therefore merely turned her head slightly, and in a low voice said, “Continue!”

“I have not deceived myself, then,” said he, with more warmth of manner. “I have secured one kind heart in my interest?”

“You must own,” said she, with a half-coquettish look of pique, “that you scarcely deserve it.”

“How, – in what way?” asked he, in astonishment.

“What a very short memory you are blessed with! Must I, then, remind you of a certain evening at Cobham? Must I recall what I thought at the time very particular, as they certainly were very pleasant, attentions on your part? Must I, also, bring to mind a certain promised visit from you, the day and hour all named by yourself, – a visit which never came off? And after all this, Major, are you not really a bold man to come down and take up your negotiation where you dropped it? Is there not in this a strong conviction of the greatness of Major Stapylton and the littleness of the doctor’s daughter?”

Stapylton was struck dumb. When a general sees that what he meant as a feint has been converted into a real attack, the situation is often imminent; but what comparison in difficulty is there between that mistake and that of him who assails what he never desired to conquer? How he inwardly cursed the stupidity with which he had opened his negotiation!

“I perceive,” said she, triumphing over his confusion, “that your calmer judgment does not reassure you. You feel that there is a certain levity in this conduct not quite excusable! Own it frankly, and at once!”

“I will own, if you like, that I was never in a situation of greater embarrassment!”

“Shall I tell you why?”

“You couldn’t; it would be totally impossible.”

“I will try, however, if you permit me. You do! Then here goes. You no more intended anything to come of your little flirtation at Cobham than you now do of a more serious blunder. You never came here this morning to make your court to me, You are much pained at the awkwardness of a situation so naturally wounding to me, and for the life of you, you cannot imagine what escape there is out of such a difficulty.”

“You are wonderfully clever, Miss Dill,” said he; and there was an honest admiration in his look that gave the words a full significance.

“No,” said she, “but I am wonderfully good-natured. I forgive you what is the hardest thing in the world to forgive!”

“Oh! if you would but be my friend,” cried he, warmly.

“What a want of tact there was in that speech, Major Stapylton!” said she, with a laugh; “but perhaps you wanted to reverse the line of our dear little poet, who tells of some one ‘that came but for Friendship, and took away Love’!”

“How cruel you are in all this mockery of me!”

“Does not the charge of cruelty come rather ill from you? – you, who can afford to sport with the affections of poor village maidens. From the time of that ‘Major bold of Halifax’ the song tells of, I never heard your equal.”

“Could you prevail upon yourself to be serious for a few minutes?” said he, gravely.

“I think not, – at least not just now; but why should I make the attempt?”

“Because I would wish your aid in a serious contingency, – a matter in which I am deeply interested, and which involves probably my future happiness.”

“Ah, Major! is it possible that you are going to trifle with my feelings once more?”

“My dear Miss Dill, must I plead once more for a little mercy?”

“No, don’t do any such thing; it would seem ungenerous to refuse, and yet I could not accord it.”

“Fairly beaten,” said he, with a sigh; “there is no help for it. You are the victor!”

“How did you leave our friends at ‘The Home’?” said she, with an easy indifference in her tone.

“All well, perfectly well; that is to say, I believe so, for I only saw my host himself.”

“What a pleasant house; how well they understand receiving their friends!”

“It is so peaceful and so quiet!” said he, with an effort to seem at ease.

“And the garden is charming!”

“And all this is perfectly intolerable,” said he, rising, and speaking in a voice thick with suppressed anger. “I never came here to play a part in a vaudeville! Your father led me to believe, Miss Dill, that you might not be indisposed to lend me your favoring aid in a suit which I am interested in. He told me I should at least find you frank and outspoken; that if you felt inclined to assist me, you’d never enhance the service by a seeming doubt or hesitation – ”

“And if I should not feel so inclined, what did he then give you to expect?”

“That you’d say so!”

“So I do, then, clearly and distinctly tell you, if my counsels offer a bar to your wishes, they are all enlisted against you.”

“This is the acme of candor. You can only equal it by saying how I could have incurred your disfavor.”