“For a while I thought one of his fits of passion would do for him,--he gets crimson, and then lividly pale, and then flushed again, and his nails are driven into his palms, and he froths at the mouth; but somehow the whole subsides at last, and his voice grows gentle, and his manner courteous,--you 'd think him a lamb, if you had never seen him as a tiger. In these moods he becomes actually humble, so that the other night he sat down and wrote his resignation to the Home Office, stating, amidst a good deal of bombast, that the increasing burden of years and infirmity left him no other choice than that of descending from the Bench he had occupied so long and so unworthily, and begging her Majesty would graciously accord a retreat to one 'who had outlived everything but his loyalty.'” “What became of this?” “He asked me about it next morning, but I said I had burned it by his orders; but I have it this moment in my desk.” “You have no right to keep it. I insist on your destroying it.” “Pardon me, mother. I'd be a rich man to-day if I had n't given way to that foolish habit of making away with papers supposed to be worthless. The three lines of a man's writing, that the old Judge said he could hang any man on, might, it strikes me, be often used to better purpose.” “I wish you would keep your sharp practices for others and spare _him_,” said she, severely. “It's very generous of you to say so, mother, considering the way he treats you and talks of you.” “Sir William and I were ill-met and ill-matched, but that is not any reason that I should like to see him treacherously dealt with.” “There's no talk of treachery here. I was merely uttering an abstract truth about the value of old papers, and regretting how late I came to the knowledge. There's that bundle of letters of that fool Trafford, for instance, to Lucy. I can't get a divorce on them, it's true; but I hope to squeeze a thousand pounds out of him before he has them back again.” “I hope in my heart that the world does not know you!” said she, bitterly. “Do you know, mother, I rather suspect it does? The world is aware that a great many men, some of whom it could ill spare, live by what is called their wits,--that is to say, that they play the game entitled 'Life' with what Yankees call 'the advantages;' and the world no more resents _my_ living by the sharp practice long experience has taught me, than it is angry with this man for being a lawyer, and that one for being a doctor.” “You know in your heart that Trafford never thought of stealing Lucy's affections.” “Perhaps I do; but I don't know what were Lucy's intentions towards Trafford.” “Oh, fie, fie!”