“Yes, Sir Clement, insolence; from you, who know me, I had a claim for protection,-not to such treatment as this.”
“By Heaven,” cried he, with warmth, “you distract me;-why, tell me,-why do I see you here?-Is this a place for Miss Anville?-these dark walks!-no party! no companion!-by all that’s good I can scarce believe my senses!”
Extremely offended at this speech, I turned angrily from him: and, not deigning to make any answer, walked on towards that part of the garden whence I perceived the lights and company.
He followed me; but we were both some time silent.
“So you will not explain to me your situation?” said he, at length.
“No, Sir,” answered I, disdainfully.
“Nor yet-suffer me to make my own interpretation?-”
I could not bear this strange manner of speaking; it made my very soul shudder,-and I burst into tears.
He flew to me, and actually flung himself at my feet, as if regardless who might see him, saying, “O, Miss Anville,-loveliest of women,-forgive my,-my,-I beseech you forgive me;-if I have offended-if I have hurt you-I could kill myself at the thought!-”
“No matter, Sir, no matter,” cried I; “if I can but find my friends,-I will never speak to-never see you again!”