eappeared. The latter, avoiding all preliminaries, demanded of the
Greek that he should promise not to use the names of his friends
publicly in such a manner again.

"I require a promise for the future. An apology will be needless from
you."

"I shall not give it," said Mr. Pericles, with a sharp lift of his upper
lip.

"But you will give me the promise I have returned for."

In answer Mr. Pericles announced that he had spoken what was simply
true: that the prosperity of the Poles was fictitious: that he, or any
unfavourable chance, could ruin them: and that their friends might do
better to protect their interests than by menacing one who had them in
his power.

Sir Purcell merely reiterated his demand for the promise, which was
ultimately snarled to him; whereupon he retired, joy on his features.
For, Cornelia poor, she might be claimed by him fearlessly: that is to
say, without the fear of people whispering that the penniless baronet
had sued for gold, and without the fear of her father rejecting his
suit. At least he might, with this knowledge that he had gained, appoint
to meet her now! All the morning Sir Purcell had been combative, owing
to that subordinate or secondary post he occupied in a situation of some
excitement;--which combativeness is one method whereby men thus placed,
imagining that they are acting devotedly for their friends, contrive
still to assert themselves. He descended to the foot of the stairs,
where he had told Emilia to wait for him, full of kind feelings and
ready cheerful counsels; as thus: "Nothing that we possess belongs to
us;--All will come round rightly in the end; Be patient, look about for
amusement, and improve your mind." And more of this copper coinage of
wisdom in the way of proverbs. But Emilia was nowhere visible to receive
the administration of comfort. Outside the house the fog appeared to
have swallowed her. With some chagrin on her behalf (partly a sense
of duty unfulfilled) Sir Purcell made his way to the residence of the
Marinis, to report of her there, if she should not have arrived. The
punishment he inflicted on himself in keeping his hand an hour from
that letter to be written to Cornelia, was almost pleasing; and he
was rewarded by it, for the projected sentences grew mellow and rich,
condensed and throbbed eloquently. What wonder, that with such a mental
occupation, he should pass Emilia and not notice her? She let him go.

But when he was out of sight, all s