"There were the City Missions," he said, wearily, for he did
not love the City, and yet he felt more than ever the force of his
dying father's commission to carry out his longings for the true good
of the people.
I said we could make a London home and see Dora sometimes, trying to
make him understand that he might reckon on me as his sister friend,
but the answer was, "I don't count on that."
"You don't want to cast me off?"
"No, indeed, but there is another to be thought of."
Then he told me how, over my letters to him in New South Wales, there
had come out Dermot's account of the early liking that everyone
nipped, till my good-girlish submission wounded and affronted him,
and he forgot or disliked me for years; how old feelings had revived,
when we came in contact once more; but how he was withheld from their
manifestation, by the miserable state of his affairs, as well as by
my own coldness and indifference.
I made some sound which made Harold say, "You told me to keep him
away."
"I knew I ought," I remember saying faintly.
"Oh--h--!" a prolonged sound, that began a little triumphantly, but
ended in a sigh, and then he earnestly said, "You do not think you
ought to discourage him now? Your mother did not forbid it for
ever."
"Oh no, no; it never came to that."
"And you know what he is now?"
"I know he is changed," was all I could say.
Pages:
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346