“‘Of course,’” read on M’Kinlay, “‘I mention the last in perfect confidence to you.’”
“Oh, of course!” broke in Georgina, “my dear Mr. M’Kinlay; the very first trait I discover in myself of angelic self-devotion, I’ll certainly impart it to you under the seal of inviolable secresy. Mind, therefore, that you tell nobody what a mine of goodness, of charity, and self-denial I am.”
Mr. M’Kinlay bowed an acquiescence, not aware in the least to what he was acceding, so overcome was he by the astounding assurance that the world contained one creature who refused to accept a legacy or avail herself of a gift.
“I am such a poor, weak-minded, vacillatory being myself,” said Georgina, still turning to Grenfell as most likely to appreciate her meaning, “that I really feel terrified in the presence of these great-souled creatures, who refuse to be stirred by the common motives of humanity.”
“The girl must be a fool!” muttered M’Kinlay, with his eyes fixed on a postscript of Cane’s letter—“a perfect fool!” But, without explaining why he thought so, he bundled up his papers, and hurried away.
“What is the mysterious parcel? I am dying to know the content» of it,” said Georgina, as she stood at a window with Grenfell.
“I think I could guess,” said he, slowly.
“You think you could guess! And you have the coolness to tell me this, seeing all the tortures of my curiosity!”
“It is by the shape of the packet that I am disposed to believe I know what is in it.”
“Pray tell me! Do tell me!” said she, entreatingly.