"Are you sure of that, papa,—that I would not have received him?" It was exactly what she had been saying to herself for days; but, now that another said it, the sentiment involved seemed weak.
"I am aware"—his tone was resigned—"that your opinions are always more radical than I can approve. The extreme always seems to have, shall I say, some attraction for you; but still, my daughter, I believe you are not lacking in proper pride."
"I am too proud to think that for a good many days I have liked a man who was not fit for my liking. I prefer to believe that he is fit until I can have more conclusive proof to the contrary."
Captain Rexford walked some minutes in sterner silence. He had long ceased to regard Sophia as under his authority.
"Still I hope, my dear, the next time you see this young man—rudeness, of course, being impossible to you, and unnecessary—still I hope you will allow your manner to indicate that a certain distance must be preserved."
Her own sense of expediency had been urging this course upon her, but she had not been able to bring her mind to it.
"I should show myself his inferior if I could deliberately hurt him," she cried, with feeling. The trouble of a long debate she had been having with herself, her uncertainty what to feel or think, gave more emotion to her voice than she supposed.
"My dear daughter!" cried the father, with evident agitation.
Sophia instantly knew on what suspicion this sudden sympathy was bestowed. She was too indignant to deny the charge.
"Well, papa?"