“He was the assailant,” Mr. Crisparkle submitted.
They walked on in silence, until Helena raised her eyes to the Minor Canon’s face, and said, almost reproachfully: “Oh, Mr. Crisparkle, would you have Neville throw himself at young Drood’s feet, or at Mr. Jasper’s, who maligns him every day! In your heart you cannot mean it. From your heart you could not do it, if his case were yours.”
“I have represented to Mr. Crisparkle, Helena,” said Neville, with a glance of deference towards his tutor, “that if I could do it from my heart, I would. But I cannot, and I revolt from the pretence. You forget however, that to put the case to Mr. Crisparkle as his own, is to suppose Mr. Crisparkle to have done what I did.”
“I ask his pardon,” said Helena.
“You see,” remarked Mr. Crisparkle, again laying hold of his opportunity, though with a moderate and delicate touch, “you both instinctively acknowledge that Neville did wrong! Then why stop short, and not otherwise acknowledge it?”
“Is there no difference,” asked Helena, with a little faltering in her manner; “between submission to a generous spirit, and submission to a base or trivial one?”
Before the worthy Minor Canon was quite ready with his argument in reference to this nice distinction, Neville struck in:
“Help me to clear myself with Mr. Crisparkle, Helena. Help me to convince him that I cannot be the first to make concessions without mockery and falsehood. My nature must be changed before I can do so, and it is not changed. I am sensible of inexpressible affront, and deliberate aggravation of inexpressible affront, and I am angry. The plain truth is, I am still as angry when I recall that night as I was that night.”