"And this was the secret, was it? Don't blush and turn away, Foker, my
boy. Why, man, you are a pattern of fidelity. Could I stand between
Blanche and such constancy--could I stand between Miss Amory and
fifteen thousand a year?"
"It is not that, Mr. Pendennis," Blanche said, with great dignity. "It
is not money, it is not rank, it is not gold that moves _me_; but it
_is_ constancy, it is fidelity, it is a whole, trustful, loving heart
offered to me that I treasure--yes, that I treasure!" And she made
for her handkerchief, but, reflecting what was underneath it, she
paused. "I do not disown, I do not disguise--my life is above
disguise--to him on whom it is bestowed, my heart must be forever
bare--that I once thought I loved you,--yes, thought I was beloved by
you! I own. How I clung to that faith! How I strove, I prayed, I
longed to believe it! But your conduct always--your own words so cold,
so heartless, so unkind, have undeceived me. You trifled with the
heart of the poor maiden! You flung me back with scorn the troth which
I had plighted! I have explained all--all to Mr.
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