'You are very strange; very unlike what you always are.'
'What I always am is of no consequence to myself, or to anyone else;
and as for what I am now, I cannot always command my feelings, though I
shall take care that they are not again observed.'
'I have offended you?'
'Then you have shown your discretion, for you should always offend the
forlorn.'
'I did not think before that you were bitter.'
'That has made me bitter which has made all others so.'
'What?'
'Disappointment.'
Another pause, yet she did not go.
'I will not quarrel, and so you need not try. You are consigned to my
care, and I am to amuse you. What shall we do?'
'Do what you like, Miss Dacre; but spare, oh! spare me your pity!'
'You do indeed surprise me. Pity! I was not thinking of pity! But you
are indeed serious, and I leave you.'
He turned; he seized her hand.
'Nay! do not go. Forgive me,' he said, 'forgive me, for I am most
miserable.'
'Why, why are you?'
'Oh! do not ask; you agonise me.'
'Shall I sing? Shall I charm the evil spirit?'
'Anything?'
She tripped to the piano, and an air, bursting like the spring, and gay
as a village feast, filled the room with its delight.
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