As for mere indignation, in such cases, he had seen enough of that to trust it no more than "ice that is one night old:" but pity for him was a weapon of defence to which he was unaccustomed.
And there was no contempt in her pity; and no affectation either.

Her voice was solemn, but tender, gently upbraiding, like her countenance.
Never had he felt Grace's mysterious attraction so strong upon him; and for the first and last time, perhaps, for many a year, he answered with downcast eyes of shame.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Harvey.

I have been rude--mad.

If you will look in your glass when you go home, and have a woman's heart in you, you may at least see an excuse for me: but like Mr.Trebooze I am not.
Forgive and forget, and let us walk home rationally." And he offered to take her hand.
"No: not now! Not till I can trust you, sir!" said she.

The words were lofty enough: but there was a profound melancholy in their tone which humbled Tom still more.