"Some aspects of the affair have troubled me lately.

Please do not be sensitive and take offence, Clive, if I

admit to you that I never have quite reconciled myself to

accepting anything from you.

"What I have accepted has been for your own sake--for the

pleasure you found in giving, not for my own sake.

"I wanted only your friendship. That was enough--more than

enough to make me happy and contented.

"I was not in want; I had sufficient; I lived better than I

had ever lived; I was self-reliant, self-supporting,

and--forgive and understand me, Clive--a little more

self-respecting than I now am.

"It is true I had saved very little; but I am young and life

is before me.

"This seems very ungrateful of me, very ungenerous after all

you have done for me--all I have taken from you.

"But, Clive, it is the truth, and I think it ought to be

told. Because this is, and has always been, a source of

self-reproach to me, whether rightly or wrongly, I don't

know. I am a novice at confession, but I feel that, if I am

to make a clean breast to you, partial confession is not

worth while, not really honest, not worthy of the very sacred

friendship that inspires it.

"So I shall shrive myself as well as I know how and continue

to admit to you my further doubts and misgivings. They are

these: my sisters do not understand your friendship for me

even if they understand mine for you--which they say they do.

"I don't think they believe me dishonest; but they cannot see

any reason for your generosity to me unless you ultimately

expect me to be dishonest.

"This has weakened my influence with them. I know I am the

youngest, yet until recently I had a certain authority in

matters regarding the common welfare and the common policy.

But this is nearly gone. They point out with perfect truth

that I myself do, with you, the very things for which I

criticise them and against which I warn them.

"Of course the radical difference is that I do these things

with you; but they can't understand why you are any better,

any finer, any more admirable, any further to be trusted than

the men they go about with alone.

"It is quite in vain that I explain to them what sort of man

you are. They retort that I merely think so.

"There is a man who takes Catharine out more frequently, and

keeps her out much later than I like. I mean Cecil Reeve. But

what I say only makes my sister sullen. She knows he is a

friend of yours.... And, Clive, I am rather afraid she is

beginning to care more for him than is quite safe for her to

ever care for any man of that class.




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