‘What I am, I shall remain,’ said I.
He informed me that it was perfectly natural for me to think it; and on my replying that persons ought to know themselves best: ‘At my age, perhaps,’ he said, and added, ‘I cannot speak very confidently of my knowledge of myself.’
‘Then you make us out to be nothing better than puppets, Mr. Pollingray.’
‘If we have missed an early apprenticeship to the habit of self-command, ma filleule.’
‘Merci, mon parrain.’
He laughed. My French, I suppose.
I determined that, if he wanted to study me, I would help him.
‘I can command myself when I choose, but it is only when I choose.’
This seemed to me quite a reasonable speech, until I found him looking for something to follow, in explanation, and on coming to sift my meaning, I saw that it was temper, and getting more angry, continued:
‘The sort of young people who have such wonderful command of themselves are not the pleasantest.’