Alfred Hardie had been torturing himself ever since he fled Edward's
female relations. He was mortified to the core. He confounded "the fools"
(his favourite synonym for his acquaintance) for going and calling Dodd's
mother an elder sister, and so not giving him a chance to divine her. And
then that he, who prided himself on his discrimination, should take them
for ladies of rank, or, at all events, of the highest fashion and, climax
of humiliation, that so great a man as he should go and seem to court
them by praising Dodd of Exeter, by enlarging upon Dodd of Exeter, by
offering to grind Logic with Dodd of Exeter. Who would believe that this
was a coincidence, a mere coincidence? They could not be expected to
believe it; female vanity would not let them. He tingled, and was not far
from hating the whole family; so bitter a thing is that which I have
ventured to dub "The Tenderest Passion." He itched to soothe his
irritation by explaining to Edward. Dodd was a frank, good-hearted
fellow; he would listen to facts, and convince the ladies in turn. Hardie
learned where Dodd's party lodged, and waited about the door to catch him
alone: Dodd must be in college by twelve, and would leave Henley before
ten. He waited till he was tired of waiting. But at last the door opened;
he stepped forward, and out tripped Miss Dodd. "Confound it!" muttered
Hardie, and drew back. However, he stood and admired her graceful figure
and action, her ladylike speed without bustling. Had she come back at the
same pace, he would never have ventured to stop her: on such a thread do
things hang: but she returned very slowly, hanging her head. Her look at
him and his headache recurred to him--a look brimful of goodness. She
would do as well as Edward, better perhaps. He yielded to impulse, and
addressed her, but with all the trepidation of a youth defying the giant
Etiquette for the first time in his life.

Julia was a little surprised and fluttered, but did not betray it; she
had been taught self-command by example, if not by precept.