SIMPSON, MYSELF AND THE PERSONAGE. 115 



think my destruction was now a matter of grim 

 certainty. She threw herself upon her knees 

 between the old man and his prey. Her mother 

 at the same time seized the mate by the collar. 

 It was like a scene in a melodrama ! 



I found the gust of cool night air from the open 

 door very refreshing. There was a certain ener- 

 gizing property also in the old man's harsh voice. 

 I rose from the couch. I felt so much better that 

 I thought I could walk alone. I tried — yes, I could. 



My first impulse was to kiss Inez (the dear 

 girl!); but it occurred to me she would hardly like 

 to be kissed by a chap with a broken head and a 

 game eye. I found it somewhat easier to refrain 

 from kissing her mother. I had not the slightest 

 temptation to kiss the old man. 



As it was, I bowed, and waved my hand in a 

 futile sort of pantomime, and wished with all my 

 heart I could put my farewell into words, for then 

 I should have made Inez promise to write often. 

 I was pitiably conscious of figuring in an awkward 

 and inglorious attempt at sentiment. It was as 

 absurd as that place in Fanny Burney's novel 

 where it says, " They both wept, curtseyed and 

 withdrew." 



Very little was said about the affair, however, 

 as we three Americanos returned to the Swift. 



