A Foregone Conclusion

Yes, I think he has; but I know as little about the matter as you do. He sat down beside her, and picking up a twig from the gravel, pulled the bark off in silence. Then, Miss Vervain, he said, knitting his brows, as he always did when he had something on his conscience and meant to ease it at any cost, I’m the dog that fetches a bone and carries a bone; I talked Don Ippolito over with you, the other day, and now I’ve been talking you over with him. But I’ve the grace to say that I’m ashamed of myself.