that
I might be excused, perhaps, to dwell on it unduly.

When I returned to her again, I had a faint, painful impression as of a
buckle slipped, so coldly she returned the packet.

"You have read them?" said I; and I thought my voice sounded not wholly
natural, for I was turning in my mind for what could ail her.

"Did you mean me to read all?" she asked.

I told her "Yes," with a drooping voice.

"The last of them as well?" said she.

I knew where we were now; yet I would not lie to her either. "I gave
them all without afterthought," I said, "as I supposed that you would
read them. I see no harm in any."

"I will be differently made," said she. "I thank God I am differently
made. It was not a fit letter to be shown me. It was not fit to be
written."

"I think you are speaking of your own friend, Barbara Grant?" said I.

"There will not be anything as bitter as to lose a fancied friend," said
she, quoting my own expression.

"I think it is sometimes the friendship that was fancied!" I cried.
"What kind of justice do you call this, to blame me for some words that
a tomfool of a madcap lass has written down upon a piece of paper? You
know yourself with what respect I have behaved--and would do always."

"Yet you would show me that same letter!" says she. "I want no such
friends. I can be doing very well, Mr. Balfour, without her--or you."

"This is your fine gratitude!" says I.

"I am very much obliged to you," said she. "I will be asking you to take
away your--letters." She seemed to choke upon the word, so that it
sounded like an oath.

"You shall never ask twice," said I; picked up that bundle, walked a
little way forward and cast them as far as possible into the sea. For a
very little more I could have cast myself after them.

The rest of the day I walked up and down raging. There were few names so
ill but what I gave her them in my own mind before the sun went down.
All that I had ever heard of Highland pride seemed quite outdone; that a
girl (scarce grown) should resent so trifling an allusion, and that from
her next friend, that she had near wearied me with praising of! I had
bitter, sharp, hard thoughts of her, like an angry boy's. If I had
kissed her indeed (I thought), perhaps she would have taken it pretty
well; and only because it had been written down, and with a spice of
jocularity, up she must fuff in this ridiculous passion. It seemed to me
there was a want of penetration in the female