"And I'll acknowledge that the income goes for much. I suppose that's real at any rate?"
"Well;—I hope so. Of course it's real. And so is the prettiness, Lord George;—if there is any."
"I never doubted that, Lady Eustace. But when it came to my thinking that you had stolen the diamonds, and you thinking that I had stolen the box—! I'm not a man to stand on trifles, but, by George, it wouldn't do then."
"Who wanted it to do?" said Lizzie. "Go away. You are very unkind to me. I hope I may never see you again. I believe you care more for that odious vulgar woman down-stairs than you do for anybody else in the world."
"Ah, dear! I have known her for many years, Lizzie, and that both covers and discovers many faults. One learns to know how bad one's old friends are, but then one forgives them, because they are old friends."
"You can't forgive me,—because I'm bad, and only a new friend."
"Yes, I will. I forgive you all, and hope you may do well yet. If I may give you one bit of advice at parting, it is to caution you against being clever when there is nothing to get by it."
"I ain't clever at all," said Lizzie, beginning to whimper.
"Good-bye, my dear."
"Good-bye," said Lizzie. He took her hand in one of his; patted her on the head with the other, as though she had been a child, and then he left her.