"Sir, I can appreciate your feelings. The sword was not to blame; and _you_ have my forgiveness," replied the still ruffled earl.
"Much obliged to your Lordship," replied Titmouse, in a somewhat different tone from any in which he had ever ventured to address his august companion; for he was beginning to feel confoundedly nettled at the bitter contemptuous manner which the earl observed towards him. He was also not a little enraged with himself; for he knew he had been in fault, and thought of the neglected advice of his tailor. So his natural insolence, like a reptile just beginning to recover from its long torpor, made a faint struggle to show itself--but in vain; he was quite cowed and overpowered by the Presence in which he was, and he wished heartily that he could have recalled even the few last words he had ventured to utter. The earl had observed his presumptuous flippancy of manner, though without appearing to do so. His Lordship was accustomed to control his feelings; and on the present occasion made some effort to do so, for fear of alienating Titmouse from him by any display of offended dignity.
"Sir, it is a very fine day," he observed in a kind manner, after a stern silence of at least five minutes.
"Remarkable fine, my Lord. I was just going to say so," replied Titmouse, greatly relieved; and presently they fell into their usual strain of conversation.
"We must learn to bear these little annoyances calmly," said the earl, graciously, on Titmouse's again alluding to his mishap;--"as for me, sir, a person in the station to which it has pleased Heaven to call me, for purposes of its own, has his peculiar and very grave anxieties--substantial anx"----