‘I could make you think better of him. I wonder whether I may.’
‘Anything—anything to make me think better of him,’ cried Robert eagerly.
‘I do not know it from him alone, so it cannot be a breach of confidence,’ said Phœbe. ‘He has been deeply attached, not to a pretty person, nor a rich nor grand one, but she was very good and religious—so much so that she would not accept him.’
‘How recently?’
‘The attachment has been long; the rejection this spring.’
‘My poor Phœbe, I could not tell you how his time has been passed since early spring.’
‘I know in part,’ she said, looking down; ‘but, Robin, that arose from despair. Oh, how I longed for him to come and let me try to comfort him!’
‘And how is this to change my opinion,’ asked Robert, ‘except by showing me that no right-minded woman could trust herself with him?’
‘Oh, Robert, no! Sisters need not change, though others ought, perhaps. I meant you to see that he does love and honour goodness for itself, and so that he will guard his sisters.’
‘I will think so, Phœbe. You deserve to be believed, for you draw out his best points. For my own part, the miserable habits of our boyhood have left a habit of acrimony, of which, repent as I will, I cannot free myself. I gave way to it last night. I can be cool, but I cannot help being contemptuous. I make him worse, and I aggravated your difficulties by insulting him.’