“Do you believe that any one ever dared to say it?”
“As to that, I can't say; the world is very daring, and says a great many naughty things without much troubling itself about their correctness.”
“It may spare its censure on the present occasion, then.”
“Is it that you will not exact her compliance?”
“I will not.”
“How well I read you,” cried she, catching up his cold and still reluctant hand between both her own; “how truly I understood your noble, generous nature! It was but yesterday I was writing about you to a very dear friend, who had asked me when the marriage was to take place, and I said: 'If I have any skill in deciphering character, I should say, Never. Charles Heathcote is not the man to live a pensioner on a wife's rental; he is far more likely to take service again as a soldier, and win a glorious name amongst those who are now reconquering India. His daring spirit chafes against the inglorious idleness of his present life, and I 'd not wonder any morning to see his place vacant at the breakfast-table, and to hear he had sailed for Alexandria.'”
“You do me a fuller justice than many who have known me longer,” said he, pensively.
“Because I read you more carefully,—because I considered you without any disturbing element of self-interest; and if I was now and then angry at the lethargic indolence of your daily life, I used to correct myself and say, 'Be patient; his time is coming; and when the hour has once struck for him, he 'll dally no longer!'”
“And my poor father—”
“Say, rather, your proud father, for he is the man to appreciate your noble resolution, and feel proud of his son.”