“I am very sorry. I would not on any account grieve your papa.”
“Will you come, then, some day this week?”
“Thank you, but I cannot promise.”
A possibility struck me.
“Papa is rather peculiar. He vexes people, sometimes, when they are not thoroughly acquainted with him. Has he vexed you in any way?”
“I assure you, no.”
After a little hesitation, determined to get at the truth, I asked:—
“Have I vexed you?”
“You! What an idea!”
It did seem, at this moment, preposterous, almost absurd. I could have laughed at it. I believe I did laugh. Oh, when one has been angry or grieved with a friend, and all of a sudden the cloud clears off—one hardly knows how or why, but it certainly is gone, perhaps never existed—save in imagination—what an infinite relief it is! How cheerful one feels, and yet humbled; ashamed, yet inexpressibly content. So glad, so satisfied to have only one's self to blame.