“I don't know, Harry; I cannot get their trick about the property out of my heart; but, perhaps, if I saw it once more where it ought to be, I might change. That's all I can say at present.”
“Well, come, Harry,” said Lindsay—adverting to what he had just said—“I think you have spoken fairly enough; I do—it's candid; you are not above this world; why should you be?—come, it is candid.”
“I trust, sir, you will never find me un-candid, either on this or any other subject.”
“No; I don't think I shall, Harry. Well, be it so—setting your mother out of the question,—proceed with equal candor in your courtship. I trust you deserve her, and, if so, I hope you may get her.”
“If he does not,” said Maria, “he will never get such a wife.”
“By the way, Harry,” asked Charles, “has she given you an intimation of anything like encouragement?”
“Well, I rather think I am not exactly a fool, Charles, nor likely to undertake an enterprise without some prospect of success. I hope you deem me, at least, a candid man.”
“Yes; but there is a class of persons who frequently form too high an estimate of themselves, especially in their intercourse with women; and who very often mistake civility for encouragement.”
“Very true, Charles—exceedingly just and true; but I hope I am not one of those either; my knowledge of life and the world will prevent me from that, I trust.”
“I hope,” continued Charles, “that if the girl is adverse to such a connection she will not be harassed or annoyed about it.”