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That
night
,
after
he
had
kissed
his
sisters
,
he
thought
proper
to
forget
even
to
shake
hands
with
me
,
but
left
the
room
in
silence
.
I
--
who
,
though
I
had
no
love
,
had
much
friendship
for
him
--
was
hurt
by
the
marked
omission
:
so
much
hurt
that
tears
started
to
my
eyes
.
"
I
see
you
and
St.
John
have
been
quarrelling
,
Jane
,
"
said
Diana
,
"
during
your
walk
on
the
moor
.
But
go
after
him
;
he
is
now
lingering
in
the
passage
expecting
you
--
he
will
make
it
up
.
"
I
have
not
much
pride
under
such
circumstances
:
I
would
always
rather
be
happy
than
dignified
;
and
I
ran
after
him
--
he
stood
at
the
foot
of
the
stairs
.
"
Good-night
,
St.
John
,
"
said
I.
"
Good-night
,
Jane
,
"
he
replied
calmly
.
"
Then
shake
hands
,
"
I
added
.
What
a
cold
,
loose
touch
,
he
impressed
on
my
fingers
!
He
was
deeply
displeased
by
what
had
occurred
that
day
;
cordiality
would
not
warm
,
nor
tears
move
him
.
No
happy
reconciliation
was
to
be
had
with
him
--
no
cheering
smile
or
generous
word
:
but
still
the
Christian
was
patient
and
placid
;
and
when
I
asked
him
if
he
forgave
me
,
he
answered
that
he
was
not
in
the
habit
of
cherishing
the
remembrance
of
vexation
;
that
he
had
nothing
to
forgive
,
not
having
been
offended
.
And
with
that
answer
he
left
me
.
I
would
much
rather
he
had
knocked
me
down
.
He
did
not
leave
for
Cambridge
the
next
day
,
as
he
had
said
he
would
.
He
deferred
his
departure
a
whole
week
,
and
during
that
time
he
made
me
feel
what
severe
punishment
a
good
yet
stern
,
a
conscientious
yet
implacable
man
can
inflict
on
one
who
has
offended
him
.
Without
one
overt
act
of
hostility
,
one
upbraiding
word
,
he
contrived
to
impress
me
momently
with
the
conviction
that
I
was
put
beyond
the
pale
of
his
favour
.
Not
that
St.
John
harboured
a
spirit
of
unchristian
vindictiveness
--
not
that
he
would
have
injured
a
hair
of
my
head
,
if
it
had
been
fully
in
his
power
to
do
so
.
Both
by
nature
and
principle
,
he
was
superior
to
the
mean
gratification
of
vengeance
:
he
had
forgiven
me
for
saying
I
scorned
him
and
his
love
,
but
he
had
not
forgotten
the
words
;
and
as
long
as
he
and
I
lived
he
never
would
forget
them
.
I
saw
by
his
look
,
when
he
turned
to
me
,
that
they
were
always
written
on
the
air
between
me
and
him
;
whenever
I
spoke
,
they
sounded
in
my
voice
to
his
ear
,
and
their
echo
toned
every
answer
he
gave
me
.
