“That I am happy,” he answered, smiling. “Only that?”
“Could it be more? How glad I am that you are as you are. I would not have you changed.”
“It's not because I am so good, is it? For you know I am not.”
Before he could answer a door opened and closed in the adjoining room. The sound had an instantaneous effect on Philip.
“Here is your father, Barbara; we'll speak of the weather. It is a matter upon which I am disposed to agree with any one—always excepting the pious Anson.”
“Why do you pretend to dislike your brother? I think him very nice,—very fine-looking.”
“Hate is as essential to certain natures as love—and much more satisfying.”
“But you can't hate him. You are far from honest.”
“People form such queer notions of me. They are eternally thinking I am not sincere, and yet, Barbara, I mean all I say—while I am saying it. Could integrity carry me to greater lengths?” She looked at him with knitted brows. He was unlike any one she had ever known.
“Are you really afraid of him?—of papa?” she asked.