"
"O, I forgive her," replied Mr. Whitelaw, with a placid air of
superiority; "I'm not the man to bear malice against a pretty woman, and
to my mind a pretty woman looks all the prettier when she's in a
passion. I'm not in a hurry, you see, Carley; I can bide my time; but I
shall never take a mistress to Wyncomb unless I can take the one I like."
After this particular evening, Mr. Whitelaw's presence seemed more than
ever disagreeable to poor Ellen. He had the air of her fate somehow,
sitting rooted to the hearth night after night, and she grew to regard
him with a half superstitious horror, as if he possessed some occult
power over her, and could bend her to his wishes in spite of herself. The
very quietude of the man became appalling to her. Such a man seemed
capable of accomplishing anything by the mere force of persistence, by
the negative power that lay in his silent nature.
"I suppose he means to sit in that room night after night, smoking his
pipe and staring with those pale stupid eyes of his, till I change my
mind and promise to marry him," Ellen said to herself, as she meditated
angrily on the annoyance of Mr. Whitelaw's courtship. "He may sit there
till his hair turns gray--if ever such red hair does turn to anything
better than itself--and he'll find no change in me.
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