Shirley

it was the mere desire of the eye.«
    »I doubt, now, whether you are speaking the truth: the grapes or the cherries are sour – ›hung too high.‹«
    »She has a pretty figure, a pretty face, beautiful hair: I acknowledge all her charms and feel none of them; or only feel them in a way she would disdain. I suppose I was truly tempted, by the mere gilding of the bait. Caroline, what a noble fellow your Robert is – great, good, disinterested, and then so pure!«
    »But not perfect: he made a great blunder once, and we will hear no more about it.«
    »And shall we think no more about it, Cary? Shall we not despise him in our heart, gentle but just, compassionate but upright?«
    »Never! We will remember that with what measure we mete it shall be measured unto us, and so we will give no scorn – only affection.«
    »Which won't satisfy, I warn you of that. Something besides affection – something far stronger, sweeter, warmer – will be demanded one day: is it there to give?«
    Caroline was moved – much moved.
    »Be calm, Lina,« said Moore, soothingly; »I have no intention, because I have no right, to perturb your mind now, nor for months to come: don't look as if you would leave me: we will make no more agitating allusions: we will resume our gossip. Do not tremble: look me in the face: see what a poor, pale, grim phantom I am – more pitiable than formidable.«
    She looked shyly. »There is something formidable still, pale as you are,« she said, as her eye fell under his.
    »To return to Shirley,« pursued Moore; »is it your opinion that she is ever likely to marry?«
    »She loves.«
    »Platonically – theoretically – all humbug!«
    »She loves, what I call, sincerely.«
    »Did she say so?«
    »I cannot affirm that she said so: no such confession as, I love this man or that, passed her lips.«
    »I thought not.«
    »But the feeling made its way in spite of her, and I saw it. She spoke of one man in a strain not to be misunderstood: her voice alone was sufficient testimony. Having wrung from her an opinion on your character, I demanded a second opinion of –– another person about whom I had my conjectures; though they were the most tangled and puzzled conjectures in the world. I would
make
her speak: I shook her, I chid her, I pinched her fingers when she tried to put me off with gibes and jests in her queer, provoking way, and at last, out it came: the voice, I say, was enough; hardly raised above a whisper, and yet such a soft vehemence in its tones. There was no confession – no confidence in the matter: to these things she cannot condescend; but I am sure that man's happiness is dear to her as her own life.«
    »Who is it?«
    »I charged her with the fact; she did not deny; she did not avow, but looked at me: I saw her eyes by the snow-gleam. It was quite enough: I triumphed over her mercilessly.«
    »What right had
you
to triumph? Do you mean to say
you
are fancy-free?«
    »Whatever
I
am, Shirley is a bondswoman. Lioness! She has found her captor. Mistress she may be of all round her – but her own mistress she is not.«
    »So you exulted at recognising a fellow-slave in one so fair and imperial?«
    »I did; Robert, you say right, in one so fair and imperial.«
    »You confess it – a
fellow
-slave?«
    »I confess nothing; but I say that haughty Shirley is no more free than was Hagar.«
    »And who, pray, is the Abraham; the hero of a patriarch who has achieved such a conquest?«
    »You still speak scornfully, and cynically, and sorely; but I will make you change your note before I have done with you.«
    »We will see that: can she marry this Cupidon?«
    »Cupidon! he is just about as much a Cupidon as you are a Cyclops.«
    »Can she marry him?«
    »You will see.«
    »I want to know his name, Cary.«
    »Guess it.«
    »Is it any one in this neighbourhood?«
    »Yes, in Briarfield parish.«
    »Then it is some person unworthy of her. I don't know a soul in Briarfield parish her equal.«
    »Guess.«
    »Impossible. I suppose she is under a delusion, and will plunge into some absurdity after all.«
    Caroline smiled.
    »Do
you
approve the choice?« asked Moore.
    »Quite,
quite.
«
    »Then I
am
puzzled; for the head which owns this bounteous fall of hazel curls is an excellent little thinking machine, most accurate in its working: it boasts a correct, steady judgment, inherited from ›mamma,‹ I suppose.«
    »And I
quite
approve, and mamma was charmed.«
    »›Mamma‹ charmed! Mrs. Pryor. It can't