o yourself, and don’t venture on generalities of . ally se its inaccuracy; and as muc ance of t often see sucrary, affectation, or coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misappre t done. But I don’t mean to flatter you: if you are cast in a different mould to ty, it is no merit of yours: Nature did it. And ter all, I go too fast in my conclusions: for  knoter t; you may olerable defects to counterbalance your fes.”

    “And so may you,” I t. My eye met o read ts import had been spoken as well as imagined—

    “Yes, yes, you are rigy of faults of my o, and I don’t e t I need not be too severe about ot existence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate , arted, or raters, I like to lay une and adverse circumstances)  on to a ack at ty, and  course since: but I mig; I mig as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory  blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure—an inexible source of pure refres: is it not?”

    “een, sir?”

    “All riger urned it to fetid puddle. I  eige your equal. Nature meant me to be, on tter kind, and you see I am not so. You  see it; at least I flatter myself I read as muc you express  organ; I am quick at interpreting its language). take my ,—I am not a villain: you are not to suppose t—not to attribute to me any suc, oo circumstances to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace sinner, ty dissipations ry to put on life. Do you  I avoo you? Kno in ture life you