"What do you want?" (in the costermonger tone.)
"I want you to come back, Philip"--(here I choked).
"I dare say," he sneered, "and you want the properties! But you've got
your play, and your amiable Charles, and your talented Alice, and your
ubiquitous Bobby. And the audience will be entertained with an
unexpected after-piece entitled--'The disobliging disobliged.'"
Oh it _was_ hard! I think if I had looked at Philip's face I must have
broken down, but I kept my eyes steadily on the crimson sun, which
loomed large through the marsh mists that lay upon the horizon, as I
answered with justifiable vehemence:
"I have a very bad temper, Philip" (I checked the disposition to
add--"and so have you"), "but I never tell a lie. I have _not_ come
after the properties. The only reason for which I have come is to try
and make peace." At this point I gathered up all my strength and
hurried on, staring at the sun till the bushes near us and the level
waste of marsh beyond seemed to vanish in the glow. "I came to say
that I am sorry for my share of the quarrel. I lost my temper, and I
beg your pardon for that. I was not very obliging about Mr. Clinton,
but you had tried me very much.
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