"Hester is going to marry a man who loves her for herself, and the only position I value I have made. What would I gain by raking up a painful story? The only relatives I'm proud to claim are my mother's in Michigan, and they're plain, rugged folks."
There was something in his attitude that appealed to Beatrice. He had no false ambitions; he was content to be judged on his own merits—a severe test. For all that, she set some value upon good birth, and it was distasteful to see that he denied the advantages of his descent. Then she grew embarrassed as she recognized that what really troubled her was his indifference to the opinion of her relatives. He must know that he had a means of disarming her father's keenest prejudice, but he would not use it.
"I understand that Hester knows nothing about these portraits," she said.
"No; I've never mentioned them. It could do no good."
"Then why have you told me?"
"Well," he answered gravely, "I thought you ought to know."
"I have no claim upon the secrets you keep from your sister."
Harding was silent, and Beatrice felt annoyed. After all, she understood why he had told her and she recognized that he had acted honestly in doing so. Still, if he really loved her, she felt, he should not let pride stand in the way of removing every obstacle to get her.
Hester came in and announced that the horses were ready; and soon afterward she and Beatrice were riding together across the prairie while Harding went doggedly back to his work.