"Yes. And I want you to begin to put away part of your salary, too. You might as well begin, now. You will be free from the burden of rent, free from—various burdens—"
"I—can't—let you—"
"I want to!"
"Why?"
"Because it gives me pleasure—"
"No; because you desire to give me pleasure! That is the reason!" she exclaimed with partly restrained passion—"because you are you—and there is nobody like you in all the world—in all the world, Clive!—"
To her emotion his own flashed a quick, warm response. He looked down at her, deeply touched, his pride gratified, his boyish vanity
satisfied. Always had the simplicity and candour of her quick and ardent gratitude corroborated and satisfied whatever was in him of youthful self-esteem. Everything about her seemed to minister to it—her attention in public places was undisguisedly for him alone; her beauty, her superb youth and health, the admiring envy of other people—all these flattered him.
Why should he not find pleasure in giving to such a girl as this?—giving without scruple—unscrupulous too, perhaps, concerning the effect his generosity might have on a cynical world which looked on out of wearied and incredulous eyes; unscrupulous, perhaps, concerning the effect his too lavish kindness might have on a young girl unaccustomed to men and the ways of men.
But there was no harm in him; he was very much self-assured of that. He had been too carefully brought up—far too carefully reared. And had people ventured to question him, and had they escaped alive his righteous violence, they would have learned that there really was not the remotest chance that his mother was in danger of becoming what she most dreaded in all the world.