"Dr. Bretton, forgive my hasty words: do, do forgive them."
He smiled that moment I spoke. "Perhaps I deserved them, Lucy. If you don't respect me, I am sure it is because I am not respectable. I fear, I am an awkward fool: I must manage badly in some way, for where I wish to please, it seems I don't please."
"Of that you cannot be sure; and even if such be the case, is it the fault of your character, or of another's perceptions? But now, let me unsay what I said in anger. In one thing, and in all things, I deeply respect you. If you think scarcely enough of yourself, and too much of others, what is that but an excellence?"
"Can I think too much of Ginevra?"
"I believe you may; you believe you can't. Let us agree to differ. Let me be pardoned; that is what I ask."
"Do you think I cherish ill-will for one warm word?"
"I see you do not and cannot; but just say, 'Lucy, I forgive you!' Say that, to ease me of the heart-ache."
"Put away your heart-ache, as I will put away
