“If you knew more of me, you would not think it, or if you did you would not say it, and expect me to be flattered by the compliment.”
I stepped backward as I spoke. He saw that I wished the conversation to end; and immediately taking the hint, he gravely bowed, wished me good-evening, and turned his horse towards the road. He appeared grieved and hurt at my unkind reception of his sympathising overtures. I was not sure that I had done right in speaking so harshly to him; but, at the time, I had felt irritated—almost insulted by his conduct; it seemed as if he was presuming upon the absence and neglect of my husband, and insinuating even more than the truth against him.
Rachel had moved on, during our conversation, to some yards’ distance. He rode up to her, and asked to see the child. He took it carefully into his arms, looked upon it with an almost paternal smile, and I heard him say, as I approached,—
“And this, too, he has forsaken!”
He then tenderly kissed it, and restored it to the gratified nurse.
“Are you fond of children, Mr. Hargrave?” said I, a little softened towards him.
“Not in general,” he replied, “but that is such a sweet child, and so like its mother,” he added in a lower tone.
“You are mistaken there; it is its father it resembles.”
“Am I not right, nurse?” said he, appealing to Rachel.
“I think, sir, there’s a bit of both,” she replied.