self between us. It came about in this wise:

I was sitting in my chambers one afternoon when the count called upon
me. We had had a rather stormy discussion at our last meeting, and I had
had to take sides against him. He was on fire for immediate action, and
I had felt it my duty to plead for delay. We had parted rather hotly,
and he made it his first business to apologize to me for something into
which his enthusiasm had hurried him. This being over, we sat in silence
for some time, and I saw at last that something was weighing on his
mind.

"I was ungenerous and wrong last night," he said at last, "and I feel it
all the more because I am here to ask you now for a special favor."

"My dear count," I said, "we have the same hopes, and we disagree
sometimes about the proper means of reaching them. I think there is no
possibility of a quarrel between us. However much we disagree, we feel
no rancor."

"Rancor!" cried the count. "Good God! my dear Fyffe, how should there be
rancor in my mind to you."

He held out his hand, and I shook it heartily. The truest and easiest
way of getting to like a man is to do him a service; that makes you
wish him well forever afterwards. I should have honored and esteemed the
Count Rossano if he had not been his daughter's father. As it was, I had
an affection for him which it would not be easy for me to overstate.

"I have so few friends," said the count, when our reconciliation was
complete, "and I am so much in need of advice, that I venture to trouble
you, my dear Fyffe, in a matter of great delicacy."

I told him, I forget precisely in what terms, that I was entirely at his
service; and after another hesitating pause he blurted out the truth.

"I have received an offer for my daughter's hand. The proposal comes to
me from the Honorable Mr. Brunow. I owe him the same debt I owe to you,
and I own that I should be reluctant to hurt his feelings by a refusal.
His offer came to me last night, and took me by surprise. I should have
been less troubled in dealing with it if he had not assured me that,
with my consent, he is fairly certain of my daughter's. I should
be wrong," he added--"I should be altogether wrong if I claimed any
authority over her. I have not the right to such a voice in her affairs
as I should have if she had been bred under my own care. But Brunow,
in spite of the debt I owe him, is not the man I should have chosen for
her. You have known him for many years. I am