'One word more. You look as if you thought it tainted you to be

loved by me. You cannot avoid it. Nay, I, if I would, cannot

cleanse you from it. But I would not, if I could. I have never

loved any woman before: my life has been too busy, my thoughts

too much absorbed with other things. Now I love, and will love.

But do not be afraid of too much expression on my part.' 'I am not afraid,' she replied, lifting herself straight up. 'No

one yet has ever dared to be impertinent to me, and no one ever

shall. But, Mr. Thornton, you have been very kind to my father,'

said she, changing her whole tone and bearing to a most womanly

softness. 'Don't let us go on making each other angry. Pray

don't!' He took no notice of her words: he occupied himself in

smoothing the nap of his hat with his coat-sleeve, for half a

minute or so; and then, rejecting her offered hand, and making as

if he did not see her grave look of regret, he turned abruptly

away, and left the room. Margaret caught one glance at his face

before he went.

When he was gone, she thought she had seen the gleam of unshed

tears in his eyes; and that turned her proud dislike into

something different and kinder, if nearly as

painful--self-reproach for having caused such mortification to

any one.

'But how could I help it?' asked she of herself. 'I never liked

him. I was civil; but I took no trouble to conceal my

indifference. Indeed, I never thought about myself or him, so my

manners must have shown the truth. All that yesterday, he might

mistake. But that is his fault, not mine. I would do it again, if

need were, though it does lead me into all this shame and

trouble.'




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