"I'm not thinking of girls. I'm thinking of myself. I've made—I've made an ass of myself."
"Faith, you're not the first man that's done that."
"Possibly."
"And won't be the last. I've done it so often myself. Ass! Faith, it's a herd of asses I've made of myself, and jackasses at that, and there you go getting into a flurry over doing what every man does. Did you ask her?"
"No," said Dashwood, viciously, clasping the bag, "I didn't."
"Then how on earth did you make an ass of yourself?" asked French, without in the least meaning to be uncomplimentary.
"How?" cried Dashwood, infuriated. "Why, by trying to act straight over this business. Now I must go. I'll write from town. I'll explain everything in a letter. Only, promise me one thing—don't say anything to—her. Don't ask her questions."