“Did I say that? I think her capricious.”
“I do not think you are capricious,” said Endymion, “and yet the world sometimes says you are.”
“I change my opinion of persons when my taste is offended,” said Lady Montfort. “What I admired in your sister, though I confess I sometimes wished not to admire her, was that she never offended my taste.”
“I hope satisfied it,” said Endymion.
“Yes, satisfied it, always satisfied it. I wonder what will be her lot, for, considering her youth, her destiny has hardly begun. Somehow or other, I do not think she will marry Sidney Wilton.”
“I have sometimes thought that would be,” said Endymion.
“Well, it would be, I think, a happy match. All the circumstances would be collected that form what is supposed to be happiness. But tastes differ about destinies as well as about manners. For my part, I think to have a husband who loved you, and he clever, accomplished, charming, ambitious, would be happiness; but I doubt whether your sister cares so much about these things. She may, of course does, talk to you more freely; but with others, in her most open hours, there seems a secret fund of reserve in her character which I never could penetrate, except, I think, it is a reserve which does not originate in a love of tranquillity, but quite the reverse. She is a strong character.”
“Then, hardly a capricious one.”
“No, not capricious; I only said that to tease you. I am capricious; I know it. I disregard people sometimes that I have patronised and flattered. It is not merely that I have changed my opinion of them, but I positively hate them.”
“I hope you will never hate me,” said Endymion.