_"Mr.Hardinge_ will not be the one to cause me regret." "Still, think----" "Think! Do you imagine I have not been thinking ?" cries she, with sudden passion.

"Do you imagine I do not know why you plead his cause so eloquently?
You want to get _rid_ of me.

You are _tired_ of me.

You always thought me heartless, about my poor father even, and unloving, and--hateful, and----" "Not heartless; what have I done, Perpetua, that you should say that ?" "Nothing.

That is what I _detest_ about you.