"You have seen but little of the girl."
"Too little: and why? Because I was ashamed to see her—but now—not ten minutes ago—I was glad she did not know me. Sir Robert, when your own daughter hangs upon your arm, or looks with her innocent eyes into your face, how do you feel?"
Sir Robert Cecil had been too well schooled in Puritanism to suffer the emotions of his mind to affect his features. He did not reply to the question, but skilfully turning the conversation, brought the intruder back to his old subject.
"How do you purpose procuring this free pardon?"
"I! I know not how to procure it; I only wish it procured: the means are in your power, not mine."
"In mine!" ejaculated the Baronet with well-feigned astonishment; ["you] mistake, good Dalton, I have no interest at Whitehall; I would not ask a favour for myself."
"That is likely; but you must ask one for me."
"Must!" repeated Sir Robert, "is a strange word to use to me, Dalton."
"I'm not scholar enough to find a better," replied the other insolently.
"I cannot if I would," persisted the Baronet.