"You are right to despise it," said Armstrong. "It shows a superiority of soul. Now here is this poor black," he went on soliloquizing, though all the time Felix stood before him, "who has learned that lesson of contentment which the generality never learn. Rich in his poverty here, an inheritor of the skies, I have only insulted him by so contemptible an offer." His head sunk upon his breast, his eyes fell upon the ground, his pocket-book dropped from his unconscious hand, and he resumed his walk. The negro stooped and picked it up, saying, to himself:
"Very strange! Mr. Armstrong act as if pocket-book chock full o' bank-bills grow like chick-weed, but I will take him under my protecshum till I give him to Miss Faith."
Upon Armstrong's return from the end of the walk, Felix delivered himself of his errand, and his master directed his steps towards the house.
He found his daughter with the breakfast apparatus before her, and looking as fresh and charming as the morning itself.
"You have shown better taste than I, father," she said. "You have been enjoying the beauty of nature, while I was lying on a downy pillow."
"Sleep is sweet to the young and healthy," said Armstrong, "and my selfishness kept you up so late last night, that I do not wonder you are not as early as usual."
"My late hours have done me no harm. But when shall we take the drive you promised me?"
"At any time that is most agreeable to yourself."
"If you refer it to me, I shall not long hesitate."
"It will make no difference with me. Choose, yourself, my darling."