"She hasn't broken it." His attitude as he looked at her again, was the perfection of easy grace--the grace that attends on cultivated strength in a state of repose.

"I put it to your own common-sense," he said, in the most reasonable manner, "what's the good of bullying me?
You don't want them to hear you, out on the lawn there--do you?
You women are all alike.

There's no beating a little prudence into your heads, try how one may." There he waited, expecting her to speak.

She waited, on her side, and forced him to go on.
"Look here," he said, "there's no need to quarrel, you know.

I don't want to break my promise; but what can I do?
I'm not the eldest son.
I'm dependent on my father for every farthing I have; and I'm on bad terms with him already.