"I was not in want; I had sufficient; I lived better than I had ever lived; I was self-reliant, self-supporting, and—forgive and understand me, Clive—a little more self-respecting than I now am.
"It is true I had saved very little; but I am young and life is before me.
"This seems very ungrateful of me, very ungenerous after all you have done for me—all I have taken from you.
"But, Clive, it is the truth, and I think it ought to be told. Because this is, and has always been, a source
of self-reproach to me, whether rightly or wrongly, I don't know. I am a novice at confession, but I feel that, if I am to make a clean breast to you, partial confession is not worth while, not really honest, not worthy of the very sacred friendship that inspires it.
"So I shall shrive myself as well as I know how and continue to admit to you my further doubts and misgivings. They are these: my sisters do not understand your friendship for me even if they understand mine for you—which they say they do.
"I don't think they believe me dishonest; but they cannot see any reason for your generosity to me unless you ultimately expect me to be dishonest.
"This has weakened my influence with them. I know I am the youngest, yet until recently I had a certain authority in matters regarding the common welfare and the common policy. But this is nearly gone. They point out with perfect truth that I myself do, with you, the very things for which I criticise them and against which I warn them.
"Of course the radical difference is that I do these things with you; but they can't understand why you are any better, any finer, any more admirable, any further to be trusted than the men they go about with alone.
"It is quite in vain that I explain to them what sort of man you are. They retort that I merely think so.