Mr. Chevenix told her all about it, adding, when he saw how she changed colour, and seemed deeply moved by his information:
'Why do you ask, Bella?'
'Because—I never have secrets from you, papa—he referred to his interview in a very remarkable manner in the conservatory.'
'Did he propose to you?'
'No, papa,' said Bella, colouring painfully now; 'but he nearly—very nearly did so.'
'A nice move towards paying off the mortgages truly!' said Mr. Chevenix, with a rather contemptuous laugh.
'He condescended to express his love for me,' thought Bella, 'and a proposal would, of course, have followed; he would seek to marry me that thereby the encumbrances might be cleared from his estate!'
Her thoughts were very bitter indeed, for now most anxious doubts of the purity and honesty of Jerry's intentions were implanted in her mind; and yet she loved Jerry on one hand quite as much as she—honest girl—derided and despised the inborn and constitutional selfishness of his haughty mother, and all such 'aristocratic snobs,' as she called them in the angry bitterness of her heart. But she resolved to show Jerry her indifference, and treat him as she thought he deserved to be.
'His selfishness apart, it is the old story,' she muttered, 'the old story of the earthen pot that sought to swim with those of brass. In his mind, I suppose, I am the earthenware.'
At other times, when her real regard for Jerry prevailed, she would think—