"May it be right then," I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensible that the character of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; at least, beyond its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vague sense of insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance.

     "Where are you going?"

     "To put Adele to bed: it is past her bedtime."

     "You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx."

     "Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I am certainly not afraid."

     "You are afraid--your self-love dreads a blunder."

     "In that sense I do feel apprehensive--I have no wish to talk nonsense."