Harry flung himself on the ground beside his friend and delivered his
mind of its new burden. Christie now condescended to look at him and to
say calmly, "It is always well to know what threatens us, but there is
no need to exaggerate facts. Mr. Cecil Burleigh is a rival you may be
proud to defeat; Miss Fairfax will please herself, and I think you are a
match for him. You have the start."
"I know Bessie is fond of me, but she is a simple, warm-hearted girl,
and is fond of all of us," said Harry with a reflective air.
"I had no idea you were so modest. Probably she has a slight preference
for _you_." Christie went on painting, and now and then a telling touch
accentuated his sentiments.
Harry hearkened, and grew more composed. "I wish I had her own assurance
of it," said he.
"You had better ask her," said Christie.
After this they were silent for a considerable space, and the picture
made progress. Then Harry began again, summing up his disadvantages: "Is
it fair to ask her? Here am I, of no account as to family or fortune,
and under a cloud as to the future, if my mother and Carnegie are
justified in their warnings--and sometimes it comes over me that they
are--why, Christie, what have I to offer her? Nothing, nothing but my
presumptuous self."
"Let her be judge: women have to put up with a little presumption in a
lover."
"Would it not be great presumption? Consider her relations and friends,
her rank and its concomitants.
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