Then this Indian Colonel had taken my fancy, and it had made him sick to see the womanish--he could call it no better, the _weak-womanish_--way in which I worshipped him.

If I were a daughter instead of a son, my caprices would distress and astonish him less.

He could have sent me to my mother, and my mother might have sent me to my needle.

In a son, from whom he looked for manly feeling and good English common-sense, it was painful in the extreme.

Vanity, the love of my own way, and want of candour--( my father took a pinch of snuff between each count of the indictment)--these were my besetting sins, and would lead me into serious trouble.