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 that question is answered. What do you wish to know next?"

"I desire to know whether you accepted or refused him?—and know it I will."

"Certainly: you ought to know it. I refused him."

"Refused him! You—you, Shirley Keeldar, refused Sir Philip Nunnely?"

"I did."

The poor gentleman bounced from his chair, and first rushed, and then trotted, through the room.

"There it is! There it is! There it is!"

"Sincerely speaking, I am sorry, uncle, you are so disappointed."

Concession—contrition—never do any good with some people. Instead of softening and conciliating, they but embolden and harden them: of that number was Mr. Sympson.

"I disappointed! What is it to me? Have I an interest in it? You would insinuate, perhaps, that I have motives?"

"Most people have motives, of some sort, for their actions."

"She accuses me to my face! I—that have been a parent to her—she charges with bad motives!"

"Bad motives, I did not say."

"And now you prevaricate. You have no principles!"

"Uncle, you tire me: I want to go away."

"Go you shall not! I will be answered. What are your intentions, Miss Keeldar?"

"In what respect?"