forget what he had said. "Say you forgive me, my poor Helen; I cannot bear to see you cry, and to feel that I have made you so unhappy. I am a violent, unfeeling wretch, and I know that I say a thousand things that I do not mean when I am angry:" and then followed all those inarticulate soothings and caresses which are so efficacious and healing after a quarrel. Then he persuaded her to look at him, and to see how sorry he was; and he brought a glass of water, and supported her while she drank it. And though they both abstained from any allusion to the original cause of their disagreement,—perhaps neither of them knew exactly what it was,—there was much concession on his part, and she had the comfort of thinking that they would now part on friendly terms. He advised her not to return to the drawing-room that evening, and tried in every way to quiet her shaken nerves. He told her St. Mary's would always be kept in readiness for her, and that Teviot House should be prepared for her in case she wished to be in London; and that he hoped she would at all events meet him there on his return. He gave the most minute directions with respect to her letters, and begged her to write constantly; "and you will be sure to give me a particular account of Sophia," he added in a tone of deep humility.
"Thank you," she said dejectedly, "you are very good." She thought he was speaking only with the view of quieting her, and not from his heart. The tears still strayed slowly down her cheeks, and she looked so pale that at last Lord Teviot bethought himself of ringing for Tomkinson, and of putting the case into her hands. It was a charming spectacle for her, and quite overthrew her system of "my lord's good-for-nothingness."
"You never saw such a flustration as my lord was in," she afterwards told Mrs. Nelson, "just because her ladyship took on so, and got a little nervous on account of his lordship being obliged to go on that Portugee business; and he called
