"Why so? Will his coming hurt you?"
"I don't like him. I don't like him at all;—and now you know the truth. You believe in him;—I don't. You think him to be a fine fellow and a gentleman, whereas I don't think him to be either."
"Mrs. Askerton!"
"This is strong language, I know."
"Very strong language."
"Yes, my dear; but the truth is, Clara, that you and I, living together here this sort of hermit's life, each seeing so much of the other and seeing nothing of anybody else, must either be real friends, telling each other what we think, or we must be nothing. We can't go on with the ordinary make-believes of society, saying little civil speeches and not going beyond them. Therefore I have made up my mind to tell you in plain language that I don't like your cousin, and don't believe in him."
"I don't know what you mean by believing in a man."
"I believe in you. Sometimes I have thought that you believe in me, and sometimes I have feared that you do not. I think that you are good, and honest, and true; and therefore I like to see your face and hear your voice,—though it is not often that you say very pleasant things to me."
"Do I say unpleasant things?"
"I am not going to quarrel with you,—not if I can help it. What business has Mr. Belton to go about London making inquiries as to me? What have I done to him, that he should honour me so far?"