"
"Yes, Sir; but can a man be a truly great man who is not
master of himself?"
"That is an excellent remark."
"It is not mine, Sir," said Ellen, blushing; "it was told me;
I did not find out all that about Nelson, myself; I did not
see it all the first time I read his life; I thought he was
perfect."
"I know who _I_ think is," said Mr. Lindsay, kissing her.
They drove now to his house in George street. Mr. Lindsay had
some business to attend to, and would leave her there for an
hour or two. And that their fast might not be too long
unbroken, Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, was directed to furnish
them with some biscuits in the library, whither Mr. Lindsay
led Ellen.
She liked the looks of it very much. Plenty of books; old
looking comfortable furniture; pleasant light; all manner of
etceteras around which rejoiced Ellen's heart. Mr. Lindsay
noticed her pleased glance passing from one thing to another.
He placed her in a deep easy-chair, took off her bonnet and
threw it on the sofa, and kissing her fondly, asked her if she
felt at home. "Not yet," Ellen said; but her look said it
would not take long to make her do so. She sat enjoying her
rest, and munching her biscuit with great appetite and
satisfaction, when Mr. Lindsay poured her out a glass of sweet
wine.
That glass of wine looked to Ellen like an enemy marching up
to attack her.
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