"Despise you! Why?" said the astonished Mowbray.
"Because—because—you call me an inexperienced youth; and—and—Ernest, it is not friendly in you!—no, it is not!—it is unjust—to treat me so!"
And Hoffland turned away like a child who is about to "have a cry."
Mowbray looked at the averted face for a moment, and saw two large tears clinging to the long dusky lashes. He experienced a strange sensation in the presence of this boy which he could not explain; it was half pity for his nervous weakness of temperament, half regret at having uttered he knew not what, to move him.
"Well, well, Charles," he said, "yours is a strange character, and I never know how to shape my discourse in your presence. You fly off at every thing, and I believe you are really shedding tears——"
"No, no," said Hoffland, hastily brushing away the pearly drops; "don't look at me."
"I was wrong."
Hoffland sobbed.
"Forgive me, Charles—I will endeavor in future to avoid these occasions of dispute; forgive my harshness."
"You are forgiven," murmured Hoffland; and his sad face became again cheerful.