Part 76 (2/2)

”Oh, as to mine;--there are some things, Alice, that a man does not tell to any one.”

”Are there? They must be very terrible things.”

”The schoolboy, when he sits down to make his rhymes, dares not say, even to his sister, that he hopes to rival Milton; but he nurses such a hope. The preacher, when he preaches his sermon, does not whisper, even to his wife, his belief that thousands may perhaps be turned to repentance by the strength of his words; but he thinks that the thousand converts are possible.”

”And you, though you will not say so, intend to rival Chatham, and to make your thousand converts in politics.”

”I like to hear you laugh at me,--I do, indeed. It does me good to hear your voice again with some touch of satire in it. It brings back the old days,--the days to which I hope we may soon revert without pain. Shall it not be so, dearest?”

Her playful manner at once deserted her. Why had he made this foolish attempt to be tender? ”I do not know,” she said, gloomily.

For a few minutes he sat silent, fingering some article belonging to her which was lying on the table. It was a small steel paper-knife, of which the handle was cast and gilt; a thing of no great value, of which the price may have been five s.h.i.+llings. He sat with it, pa.s.sing it through his fingers, while she went on with her work.

”Who gave you this paper-cutter?” he said, suddenly.

”Goodness me, why do you ask? and especially, why do you ask in that way?”

”I asked simply because if it is a present to you from any one, I will take up something else.”

”It was given me by Mr. Grey.”

He let it drop from his fingers on to the table with a noise, and then pushed it from him, so that it fell on the other side, near to where she sat.

”George,” she said, as she stooped and picked it up, ”your violence is unreasonable; pray do not repeat it.”

”I did not mean it,” he said, ”and I beg your pardon. I was simply unfortunate in the article I selected. And who gave you this?” In saying which he took up a little ivory foot-rule that was folded up so as to bring it within the compa.s.s of three inches.

”It so happens that no one gave me that; I bought it at a stupid bazaar.”

”Then this will do. You shall give it me as a present, on the renewal of our love.”

”It is too poor a thing to give,” said she, speaking still more gloomily than she had done before.

”By no means; nothing is too poor, if given in that way. Anything will do; a ribbon, a glove, a broken sixpence. Will you give me something that I may take, and, taking it, may know that your heart is given with it?”

”Take the rule, if you please,” she said.

”And about the heart?” he asked.

He should have been more of a rascal or less. Seeing how very much of a rascal he was already, I think it would have been better that he should have been more,--that he should have been able to content his spirit with the simple acquisition of her money, and that he should have been free from all those remains of a finer feeling which made him desire her love also. But it was not so. It was necessary for his comfort that she should, at any rate, say she loved him. ”Well, Alice, and what about the heart?” he asked again.

”I would so much rather talk about politics, George,” said she.

The cicatrice began to make itself very visible in his face, and the debonair manner was fast vanis.h.i.+ng. He had fixed his eyes upon her, and had inserted his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat.

”Alice, that is not quite fair,” he said.

”I do not mean to be unfair.”

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