"I do believe that. But after all, Ellen, you might like
Nelson; those were only the spots in the sun."
"Yes, Sir; but can a man be a truly great man who is not master of himself?"
"That is an excellent remark."
"It is not mine, Sir," said Ellen, blushing; "it was told me; I did not find out all that about Nelson, myself; I did not see it all the first time I read his life; I thought he was perfect."
"I know who I think is," said Mr. Lindsay, kissing her.
They drove now to his house in George street. Mr. Lindsay had some business to attend to, and would leave her there for an hour or two. And that their fast might not be too long unbroken, Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, was directed to furnish them with some biscuits in the library, whither Mr. Lindsay led Ellen.
She liked the looks of it very much. Plenty of books; old looking comfortable furniture; pleasant light; all manner of etceteras around which rejoiced Ellen's heart. Mr. Lindsay noticed her pleased glance passing from one thing to another. He placed her in a deep easy-chair, took off her bonnet and threw it on the sofa, and kissing her fondly, asked her if she felt at home. "Not yet," Ellen said; but her look said it would not take long to make her do so. She sat enjoying her rest, and munching her biscuit with great appetite and satisfaction, when Mr. Lindsay poured her out a glass of sweet wine.
That glass of wine looked to Ellen like an enemy marching up to attack her. Because Alice and John did not drink it, she had always at first, without other reason, done the same; and she was determined not to forsake their example now. She took no notice of the glass of wine, though she had ceased to see anything else in the room, and went on, seemingly as before, eating her biscuit, though she no longer knew how it tasted.
"Why don't you drink your wine, Ellen?"
"I do not wish any, Sir."