'I have been, sir--I believe I am still--very foolish; and it is perhaps more hard upon me that I must meet this gentleman, who has been, though not the cause entirely, yet the accomplice, of my folly, in your presence.' Here she made a full stop.
'I am to understand, then,' said Mannering, 'that this was the author of the serenade at Mervyn Hall ?' There was something in this allusive change of epithet that gave Julia a little more courage.

'He was indeed, sir; and if I am very wrong, as I have often thought, I have some apology.' 'And what is that ?' answered the Colonel, speaking quick, and with something of harshness.
'I will not venture to name it, sir; but (she opened a small cabinet, and put some letters into his hands) I will give you these, that you may see how this intimacy began, and by whom it was encouraged.' Mannering took the packet to the window--his pride forbade a more distant retreat.

He glanced at some passages of the letters with an unsteady eye and an agitated mind; his stoicism, however, came in time to his aid--that philosophy which, rooted in pride, yet frequently bears the fruits of virtue.

He returned towards his daughter with as firm an air as his feelings permitted him to assume.
'There is great apology for you, Julia, as far as I can judge from a glance at these letters; you have obeyed at least one parent.

Let us adopt a Scotch proverb the Dominie quoted the other day--"Let bygones be bygones, and fair play for the future." I will never upbraid you with your past want of confidence; do you judge of my future intentions by my actions, of which hitherto you have surely had no reason to complain.
Keep these letters; they were never intended for my eye, and I would not willingly read more of them than I have done, at your desire and for your exculpation.