"
"Well," said Percy, gloomily, "I might do worse. You never really loved
me; you were always like an enemy looking out for faults. You kept
postponing our union for something to happen to break it off. But I won't
be any woman's slave; I'll use one to drive out the other. None of you
shall trample on me." Then he burst forth into singing. Nobody stammers
when he sings.
"Shall I, wasting in despair,
Sigh because a woman's fair?
Shall my cheeks grow pale with care
Because another's rosy are?
If she be not kind to me,
What care I how fair she be?"
This resolute little gentleman passed through the gate as he concluded
the verse, waved his hand jauntily by way of everlasting adieu, and
went off whistling the refrain with great spirit, and both hands in
his pockets.
"You impudent!" cried Julia, almost choking; then, authoritatively,
"Percy--Mr. Fitzroy;" then, coaxingly, "Percy _dear_."
Percy heard, and congratulated himself upon his spirit. "That's the way
to treat them," said he to himself.
"Well?" said he, with an air of indifference, and going slowly back to
the gate.
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