'
'Then what's the good?'
'I have something to say. May I come to you tomorrow?'
Then Silverbridge allowed himself to make an appointment, and an
hour was named at which Tifto might call into Carlton Terrace. He
felt that he almost owed some reparation to the wretched man,--whom
he had unfortunately admitted among his friends, whom he had used,
and to whom he had been uncourteous. Exactly at the hour named the
Major was shown into the room.
Dolly had said that he was shabby,--but the man was altered rather
than shabby. He still had rings on his fingers and studs in his
shirt, and a jewelled pin in his cravat,--but he had shaven off his
moustache and the tuft from his chin, and his hair had been cut
short, and in spite of his jewellery there was a hang-dog look
about him. 'I've got something that I particularly want to say to
you, my Lord.' Silverbridge would not shake hands with him, but
could not refrain from offering him a chair.
'Well;--you can say it now.'
'Yes;--but it isn't so very easy to be said. There are some things,
though you want to say them ever, so you don't quite know how to
do it.
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