"I believe you owe it more to yourself," he replied, shaking off his embarrassed air; "since they all declared you would not wear that old hat."
"Then I owe it to your superior discrimination, that you knew I did not care for such a trifle, in comparison with a ride. It reminds me of old, happy old times—and I feel like a new being."
"Ah, I used, in my old days of lofty aspiration, to look on good temper as the virtue of second rate characters, and I believed that great minds must be fickle and changeable."
"And if you have altered your opinion, why do you not practise your new doctrine?" she said, archly.
"You allude to my getting out of temper at dinner on Saturday; but then you must own I instantly recovered myself."
"I do not mean then only; but I often see the flash which denotes the inward storm, though no thunder follows."
"What, am I to sit unmoved, and hear the best motives misjudged—self-devotion ridiculed—the mourner made to feel all the bitterness of grief—and the orphan without a friend?"
"If you speak of me," replied his companion, with a gay smile, "do not forget that I have some friends left still; but if I had none, no champion of mine should use the weapons I would not wield myself; and, remember, I can change my position when I like."
"How?"