Great Heart and Little Heart

The one idea in him that found its way outward to expression was the
idea of Julian. Without moving his hand, without looking up from Mercy,
he spoke for the first time since the shock had fallen on him.

"Where is Julian?" he asked, very quietly.

"I am here, Horace--close by you."

"Will you do me a service?"

"Certainly. How can I help you?"

He considered a little before he replied. His hand left Mercy's
shoulder, and went up to his head--then dropped at his side. His next
words were spoken in a sadly helpless, bewildered way.

"I have an idea, Julian, that I have been somehow to blame. I said some
hard words to you. It was a little while since. I don't clearly remember
what it was all about. My temper has been a good deal tried in this
house; I have never been used to the sort of thing that goes on
here--secrets and mysteries, and hateful low-lived quarrels. We have
no secrets and mysteries at home. And as for quarrels--ridiculous!
My mother and my sisters are highly bred women (you know them);
gentlewomen, in the best sense of the word. When I am with _them_ I have
no anxieties. I am not harassed at home by doubts of who people are, and
confusion about names, and so on. I suspect the contrast weighs a little
on my mind and upsets it. They make me over-suspicious among them here,
and it ends in my feeling doubts and fears that I can't get over: doubts
about you and fears about myself. I have got a fear about myself now. I
want you to help me. Shall I make an apology first?"