'We should have to shut our eyes as well!'
A lovely melting image of her stole over him; all the warmer for her unwittingness in producing it: and it awakened a tenderness toward the simple speaker.
Cecilia's delicate breeding saved her from running on figuratively. She continued: 'Intellectual differences do not cause wounds, except when very unintellectual sentiments are behind them:—my conceit, or your impatience, Nevil? "Noi veggiam come quei, che ha mala luce." . . . I can confess my sight to be imperfect: but will you ever do so?'
Her musical voice in Italian charmed his hearing.
'What poet was that you quoted?'
'The wisest: Dante.'
'Dr. Shrapnel's favourite! I must try to read him.'
'He reads Dante?' Cecilia threw a stress on the august name; and it was manifest that she cared not for the answer.
Contemptuous exclusiveness could not go farther.
'He is a man of cultivation,' Beauchamp said cursorily, trying to avoid dissension, but in vain. 'I wish I were half as well instructed, and the world half as charitable as he!—You ask me if I shall admit my sight to be imperfect. Yes; when you prove to me that priests and landlords are willing to do their duty by the people in preference to their churches and their property: but will you ever shake off prejudice?'