THE HILL OF DREAMS
he had in his soul a charming image of womanhood, before which he worshipped with mingled passion and devotion. It was a nude figure, perhaps, but the shining arms were to be wound about the neck of a vanquished knight, there was rest for the head of a wounded lover; the hands were stretched forth to do works of pity, and the smiling lips were to murmur not love alone, but consolation in defeat. Here was the refuge for a broken heart; here the scorn of men would but make tenderness increase; here was all pity and all charity with loving-kindness. It was a delightful picture, conceived in the 'come rest on this bosom,' and 'a ministering angel thou' manner, with touches of allurement that made devotion all the sweeter. He soon found that he had idealised a little; in the affair of young Bennett, while the men were contemptuous the women were virulent. He had been rather fond of Agatha Gervase, and she, so other ladies said, had 'set her cap' at him. Now, when he rebelled, and lost the goodwill of his aunt, dear Miss Spurry, Agatha insulted him with all conceivable rapidity. 'After all, Mr. Bennett,' she said, 'you will be nothing better than a beggar; now will you? You mustn't think me cruel, but I can't
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