'Oh, I did not think that you considered me in any sense a superior girl; and I must feel highly flattered that you put a higher price upon that superiority than upon the splendid property adjoining my father's.' There was now the merest glint of mischief in her glance; and she was evidently desirous that Mr. Gray should be more explicit in his objection to the match. 'Does Mr. Gray realize what a great compliment he has paid me, a poor rustic, an untutored country girl, with a little knowledge about the bees and clover, and some cunning as to the tricks of breachy cattle? Now wherefore should I not marry Mr. Ham? Do I know more about the English authors, or about the French ones than he does? Am I more gifted in mathematical insight; or do I know more about the history of kings and ancient wars? I can paint the merest bit; and my music is attuned for little else than the heavy heels of rustic swains and clumsy lasses. Now, Mr. Ham is more skilled in painting than I, and more learned in all things acquired from books: pray where, then, is the force of your objection to this joining of hands and farms upon intellectual grounds?'
'I think you miss my meaning, Aster. You cannot sum up the superiority of character by counting the items as you "take stock" in a tradesman's store. The highest and most captivating points in human character, especially in a woman's, often have such an evasive subtlety of outline that you can no more define them than you could the message which some blossom, blooming in a wild, far place, has for the human heart as you stoop over it to drink its perfume, and gloat upon its beauty. But you ask me to be definite: will you take offence, if, upon some points which present themselves to me, I become quite definite?'
'Not by any means, Mr. Gray. I am very anxious to hear everything that you have to say.'
'Well, Aster, I do not admire your friend, Mr. Ham. I think he is a coarse snob; and under an exterior of brusque frankness I believe he is deceitful and—cowardly. I should consider your union with such a person a monstrous sacrifice.'
'Would you have me wait until some man who reaches your ideal came and asked father for my hand? Or would you have me advertise in William Lyon Mackenzie's newspaper. Or, still another and final alternative, would you have me bloom in this sweet place all my days in celibacy?'
'I simply would not have you marry that person, Ham.'
'No other definite wish with respect to me?' Her head was bowed now, and her mischievous, upward glance was very fascinating.
'I have; but I should prefer for the present to keep it to myself.'