She took from her reticule a morsel of sweet-cake; for that repository was never destitute of something available to throw to the chickens, young ducks, or sparrows. She crumbled it, and bending over his shoulder, put the crumbs into his hand.
"There," said she—"there is a providence for the improvident."
"This September afternoon is pleasant," observed Louis Moore, as, not at all discomposed, he calmly cast the crumbs on to the grass.
"Even for you?"
"As pleasant for me as for any monarch."
"You take a sort of harsh, solitary triumph in drawing pleasure out of the elements and the inanimate and lower animate creation."
"Solitary, but not harsh. With animals I feel I am Adam's son, the heir of him to whom dominion was given over 'every living thing that moveth upon the earth.' Your dog likes and follows me. When I go into that yard, the pigeons from your dovecot flutter at my feet. Your mare in the stable knows me as well as it knows you, and obeys me better."
"And my roses smell sweet to you, and my trees give you shade."
"And," continued Louis, "no caprice can withdraw these pleasures from me; they are mine."
He walked off. Tartar followed him, as if in duty and affection bound, and Shirley remained standing on the summer-house step. Caroline saw her face as she looked after the rude tutor. It was pale, as if her pride bled inwardly.