“Oh, well, as I told her, most men would do it.”
“I suppose so,” John answered, laughing a little. “A man the other night told me he was going to make inquiries concerning the fortunes of his beloved one. He said he had no idea of buying a pig in a poke. That was graceful, was it not?”
Mrs. Wyndham laughed aloud. “He was honest, at all events. By the bye, do you know you have a fanatic admirer in Sybil Brandon?”
“No, really? I like her very much, too: and I am very glad if she likes me.”
“She said she would not marry you if you asked her, though,” said Mrs. Sam, laughing again. “You see you must not flatter yourself too much.”
“I do not. I should not think of asking her to marry me. Did she give any especial reason why she would inevitably refuse me?”
“Yes, indeed; she said you were lion-like, and, oh, the most delightful things! But she said she would not marry you if you asked her, because you are a celebrity and devoted to your career, so that there is no room for a woman in your life. Is that true?”
“I am not so sure,” said John, thoughtfully. “Perhaps she is right in the way she means. I never thought much about it.”
Chapter XII.
The idea Joe had formed about Vancouver was just, in the main, and she was not far wrong in disliking him and thinking him dangerous. Nevertheless John Harrington understood the man better. Vancouver was so constituted that his fine intellect and quick perception were unsupported by any strong principle of individuality. He was not capable of hatred–he could only be spiteful; he could not love, he could only give a woman what he could spare of himself. He would at all times rather avoid an open encounter, but he rarely neglected an opportunity of dealing a thrust at any one he disliked, when he could do so safely. He was the very opposite of John, who never said of any one what he would not say to themselves, and granted to every man the broadest right of judgment and freedom of opinion. Nevertheless there was not enough real strength in anything Vancouver felt to make him very dangerous as an opponent, nor valuable as a friend. Had it not been for the important position he had attained by his clever subtlety in affairs, and by the assistance of great railroad magnates who found in him a character and intelligence precisely suited to their ends, Pocock Vancouver would have been a neutral figure in the world, lacking both the enterprise to create an idea and the courage to follow it out. It was most characteristic of his inherent smallness, that in spite of his wealth and the very large operations that must be constantly occupying his thoughts, he could demean himself to write anonymous articles in a daily paper, in the hope of injuring a man he disliked.