“But can you venture to let him talk to you?”
“If you ask him to read, how will you prevent him? Unfortunately he has thoughts, and they will out.”
“Is there no danger of his being rude?”
“If speaking his mind about anything in the book be rudeness, he will most likely be rude. Any other kind of rudeness is as impossible to Malcolm as to any gentleman in the land.”
“How can you be so sure of him?” said Clementina, a little anxious as to the way in which her friend regarded the young man.
“My father was—yes, I may say so—attached to him—so much so that he—I can’t quite say what—but something like made him promise never to leave my service. And this I know for myself, that not once, ever since that man came to us, has he done a selfish thing or one to be ashamed of. I could give you proof after proof of his devotion.”
Florimel’s warmth did not reassure Clementina; and her uneasiness wrought to the prejudice of Malcolm. She was never quite so generous towards human beings as towards animals. She could not be depended on for justice except to people in trouble, and then she was very apt to be unjust to those who troubled them.
“I would not have you place too much confidence in your Admirable Crichton of menials, Florimel,” she said. “There is something about him I cannot get at the bottom of. Depend upon it, a man who can be cruel would betray on the least provocation.”
Florimel smiled superior—as she had good reason to do; but Clementina did not understand the smile, and therefore did not like it. She feared the young fellow had already gained too much influence over his mistress.
“Florimel, my love,” she said, “listen to me. Your experience is not so ripe as mine. That man is not what you think him. One day or other he will, I fear, make himself worse than disagreeable. How can a cruel man be unselfish?”