"You are young still, and angry with fate, or Providence, or the devil,—whichever you like to call it," said the old man. "But as for me, I am old,—too old to be indignant any more, or to go on knocking my head against stone walls; but—I am sorry too—I have not outlived sorrow yet;—unfortunately, that is the last thing we leave behind."
George twisted his eyeglass rapidly. "There are a good many years before me, in all probability," he said. "I may meet her again. In fact, I will try to, sooner or later. One would like to know how it answers, but not just yet. I don't want to be taken up for assault, and I should find it hard to keep my hands off that preaching villain. I will wait."
"Well," said Mr. Russelthorpe drily, "I think you'd better; for I've heard that Barnabas Thorpe knows how to use his fists too: it would be undignified, should you get the worst of it. Besides (though you can hardly be expected to see this), though I've met hypocrites in my time, I doubt whether they are common. Self-deceived idiots there are in plenty, who dub their own desires and prejudices the 'Voice of the Lord'; but villains are scarce. He may be one; of course, it simplifies matters to believe that he is; one can curse him the more heartily,—but I doubt it."
"Do you?" said George shortly; "I don't!"
"No," said the old man; "I don't suppose you do. You're young and hard, as I said before, and sure about everything. Well, don't go and make a fool of yourself about her. What good do you suppose you could do? You might, of course, do harm—that is always so much easier—harm to her and yourself too. I don't know that it would amuse me much if harm should come to you. I should miss you rather—though probably I should do nothing to prevent it."
His voice died away sadly, in a rambling sentence, about something he had said or had not said, and might have prevented and hadn't prevented.
"But you are in such a hurry, Margaret, and I am too old to think so quickly—too old, too old!" he mumbled.
Mr. Sauls, who was just going away, turned back, arrested by that long weak murmur. He crossed the room again, made up the fire, and pushed the armchair closer to it.
"You are not well, sir. Ought you to be alone like this? shall I fetch any one?"
"No—no—don't fetch her. I can't stand her. Don't, I say, don't!" cried Mr. Russelthorpe so nervously that George gave up the idea at once.