'
Dudley stood a little way off, viewing me, with his hat in both hands and a
'glooming' countenance.
I detested the idea of either hearing or speaking to him; but I had no
resolution to refuse, and only saying 'I can't imagine what you can wish to
speak to me about,' I approached him. 'Wait there at the banister, Quince.'
There was a fragrance of alcohol about the flushed face and gaudy muffler
of this odious cousin, which heightened the effect of his horribly dismal
features. He was speaking, besides, a little thickly; but his manner was
dejected, and he was treating me with an elaborate and discomfited respect
which reassured me.
'I'm a bit up a tree, Miss,' he said shuffling his feet on the oak floor.
'I behaved a d---- fool; but I baint one o' they sort. I'm a fellah as 'ill
fight his man, an' stan' up to 'm fair, don't ye see? An' _baint_ one o'
they sort--no, _dang_ it, I baint.'
Dudley delivered his puzzling harangue with a good deal of undertoned
vehemence, and was strangely agitated. He, too, had got an unpleasant way
of avoiding my eye, and glancing along the floor from corner to corner as
he spoke, which gave him a very hang-dog air.
Pages:
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622