His anger changed to
meekness, and his words were mild and fawning.
'My dear,' he said; 'if in the short excitement of an angry moment I
resorted to an unjustifiable means of suppressing a little outbreak
calculated to injure you as well as myself--it's possible I may have
done so; perhaps I did--I ask your pardon. A father asking pardon of
his child,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'is, I believe, a spectacle to soften the
most rugged nature.'
But it didn't at all soften Miss Pecksniff; perhaps because her nature
was not rugged enough. On the contrary, she persisted in saying, over
and over again, that she wasn't quite a fool, and wasn't blind, and
wouldn't submit to it.
'You labour under some mistake, my child!' said Mr Pecksniff, 'but
I will not ask you what it is; I don't desire to know. No, pray!' he
added, holding out his hand and colouring again, 'let us avoid the
subject, my dear, whatever it is!'
'It's quite right that the subject should be avoided between us,
sir,' said Cherry. 'But I wish to be able to avoid it altogether, and
consequently must beg you to provide me with a home.
Pages:
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896