"I do."
"Well, Flora, at the same time that I must admit you have cause for speaking of Mr. Marchdale as you do, yet when we come to consider all things, there may be found for him excuses."
"May there?"
"Yes, Flora; he is a man, as he himself says, past the meridian of life, and the world is a sad as well as a bad teacher, for it soon—too soon, alas! deprives us of our trusting confidence in human nature."
"It may be so; but yet, he, knowing as he did so very little of Charles Holland, judged him hastily and harshly."
"You rather ought to say, Flora, that he did not judge him generously."
"Well, be it so."
"And you must recollect, when you say so, that Marchdale did not love Charles Holland."
"Nay, now," said Flora, while there flashed across her cheek, for a moment, a heightened colour, "you are commencing to jest with me, and, therefore, we will say no more. You know, dear Henry, all my hopes, my wishes, and my feelings, and I shall therefore leave my future destiny in your hands, to dispose of as you please. Look yonder!"
"Where?"