“Light another cigar, and sit down here beside me,—I don't dislike smoke, and it may, perchance, be a peace calumet between us; and let us talk, if possible, reasonably and calmly.”
He obeyed like one who seemed to feel that her word was a command, and sat down on the cliff at her side.
“There, now,” said she, “be useful; hold that color-case for me, and give me your most critical counsel. Do you like my sketch?”
“Very much indeed.”
“Where do you find fault with it? There must be a fault, or your criticism is worth nothing.”
“Its greatest blemish in my eyes is the time it has occupied you. Since you began it you have very rarely condescended to speak of anything else.”
“A most unjust speech, and an ungrateful one. It was when throwing in those trees yonder, I persuaded you to recall your farewell address to your borough friends; it was the same day that I sketched that figure there, that I showed you the great mistake of your present life. There is no greater error, believe me, than supposing that a Parliamentary success, like a social one, can be achieved by mere brilliancy. Party is an army, and you must serve in the ranks before you can wear your epaulets.”
“I have told you already,—I tell you again,—I 'm tired of the theme that has myself alone for its object.”
“Of whom would you speak, then?” said she, still intently busied with her drawing.
“You ask me when you know well of whom,” said he, hurriedly. “Nay, no menaces; I could not if I would be silent. It is impossible for me any longer to continue this struggle with myself. Here now, before I leave this spot, you shall answer me—” He stopped suddenly, as though he had said more than he intended, or more than he well knew how to continue.