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‘Come, cry a truce. Poor young lady! She trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. He found, however, that now the time had come he utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. “I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. It’s all right.
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