"I thought we were going to be great friends," she said. "You and Mr.
Farrar were so kind to me on the night of my arrival, and we had such fun
watching the dance together."
"I confess I thought so, too. But you expressed opinions then that I
shared. You have since changed your mind, for some unaccountable
reason."
She paused in her polishing, a shining dish in her hand, and looked down
at me with something between a laugh and a frown.
"I suppose you have never regretted speaking hastily," she said.
"Many a time," I returned, warming; "but if I ever thought a judgment
measured and distilled, it was your judgment of the Celebrity."
"Does the study of law eliminate humanity?" she asked, with a mock
curtsey. "The deliberate sentences are sometimes the unjust ones, and
men who are hung by weighed wisdom are often the innocent."
"That is all very well in cases of doubt. But here you have the
evidences of wrong-doing directly before you."
Three dishes were taken up, dried, and put down before she answered me.
I threw pebbles into the brook, and wished I had held my tongue.
"What evidence?" inquired she.
"Well," said I, "I must finish, I suppose. I had a notion you knew of
what I inferred. First, let me say that I have no desire to prejudice
you against a person whom you admire."
"Impossible."
Something in her tone made me look up.
"Very good, then," I answered. "I, for one, can have no use for a man
who devotes himself to a girl long enough to win her affections, and then
deserts her with as little compunction as a dog does a rat it has shaken.
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