He smiled a little as he spoke, not familiarly, not presumptuously, but with an air which indicated his entire ability to justify himself. Hope said:
“I have no wish to be unjust.”
“May I then plead my own cause?”
“I must go into the house—I will call my grandfather, whom I suppose you wish to see.”
“I am here by his permission, and I hope you will not regard me as an intruder.”
“Certainly not, if he knows you are here;” and Hope lingered to hear if he had any thing more to say.
“It was a very sudden affair. We were both hot and angry; but he is smaller than I, and I should have done nothing had he not struck me, and fallen upon me so that I was obliged to defend myself.”
“Yes—to be sure—in that case,” said Hope, still lingering, and remarking the music of his voice. Abel continued—while the girl’s eyes saw how well he looked upon that lawn—the clustering black hair—the rich eyes—the dark complexion—the light of intelligence playing upon his face—his dress careful but graceful—and the port-folio which showed this interview to be no design or expectation, but a mere chance—
“I am very sorry you should have had the pain of seeing such a spectacle, and I am ashamed my first introduction to you should have been at such a time.”
Hope Wayne lingered, looking on the ground.