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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

Grant, and tried to laugh,
but there was not a laugh inside him.
"Then you won't ride to-day?" he said.
"I think not," replied Arctura.
She ought to have said she would not. It is a pity to let doubt
alight on decision. Her reply re-opened the whole question.
"I cannot see what should induce you to allow that fellow the honour
of reading with you!" said Forgue. "He's a long-winded, pedantic,
ill-bred lout!"
"Mr. Grant is my friend!" said Arctura, and raising her head looked
him in the eyes.
"Take my word for it, you are mistaken in him," he said.
"I neither value nor ask your opinion of him," returned Arctura. "I
merely acquaint you with the fact that he is my friend."
"Here's the devil and all to pay!" thought Forgue.
"I beg your pardon," he said: "you do not know him as I do!"
"Not?--and with so much better opportunity of judging!"
"He has never played the dominie with you!" said Forgue foolishly.
"Indeed he has!"
"He has! Confound his insolence! How?"
"He won't let me study as I want.--How has he interfered with you?"
"We won't quarrel about him," rejoined Forgue, attempting a tone of
gaiety, but instantly growing serious. "We who ought to be so much
to each other--"
Something told him he had already gone too far.
"I do not know what you mean--or rather, I am not willing to think I
know what you mean," said Arctura.


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