Chapter xxxii. A Specimen of My Wisdom.
The scene must follow my erratic movements — the scene must close on London for a while, and open in Edinburgh. Two days had passed since Major Fitz–David’s dinner-party. I was able to breathe again freely, after the utter destruction of all my plans for the future, and of all the hopes that I had founded on them. I could now see that I had been trebly in the wrong — wrong in hastily and cruelly suspecting an innocent woman; wrong in communicating my suspicions (without an attempt to verify them previously) to another person; wrong in accepting the flighty inferences and conclusions of Miserrimus Dexter as if they had been solid truths. I was so ashamed of my folly, when I thought of the past — so completely discouraged, so rudely shaken in my confi
