“Does he—does he—care for her very much?” said Saxby.
Aunt Sophia hesitated for a few moments, and then seemed to make up her mind. “I don’t know,” she said; “but I’ll speak plainly to you, Saxby, for I like you.”
“You—Miss Raleigh!—you—like—me?”
“Yes. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because—because—”
“Yes; I know. Because you opposed me sometimes. Well, a woman likes to be opposed. Some stupid people say that a woman likes to have her own way in everything. It isn’t true. She likes to find some one who will and who does master her. It’s her nature, Saxby, and whenever you find anyone who asserts the contrary, set him or her down as ignorant or an impostor.”
“But don’t raise my hopes, Miss Raleigh, don’t, pray, if there’s no chance for me.”
“I’m not going to raise your hopes—not much. I shall only say to you, that I am sorry about my niece’s leanings, and that, perhaps, after all, it is but a girlish fancy. If I were a man—”
“Yes, Miss Raleigh, if you were a man?”
“And cared for a woman, I should never give her up till I saw that my case was quite hopeless.”