generally say that men are selfish. I do not complain so much that they are selfish as that they are thoughtless. They are headstrong and do not look forward to results. Now you,—I do not think you would willingly do me an injury?"
"I do not think I would."
"I am sure you would not;—but yet you would forget to save me from one."
"What injury?"
"Oh, never mind. I am not thinking of anything in particular. From myself, for instance. But we will not talk about that. That way madness lies. Tell me, Conway;—what do you think of Clara Van Siever?"
"She is very handsome, certainly."
"And clever?"
"Decidedly clever. I should think she has a temper of her own."
"What woman is there worth a straw that has not? If Clara Van Siever were ill-used, she would resent it. I do not doubt that for a moment. I should not like to be the man who would do it."
"Nor I, either," said Conway.
"But there is plenty of feminine softness in that character, if she were treated with love and kindness. Conway, if you will take my advice you will ask Clara Van Siever to be your wife. But perhaps you have already."
"Who; I?"
"Yes; you."
"I have not done it yet, certainly, Mrs. Broughton."
"And why should you not do it?"
"There are two or three reasons;—but perhaps none of any great importance. Do you know of none, Mrs. Broughton?"
"I know of none," said Mrs. Broughton in a very serious,—in almost a tragic tone;—"of none that should weigh for a moment. As far as I am concerned, nothing would give me more pleasure."
"That is so kind of you!"
"I mean to be kind. I do, indeed, Conway. I know it will be better for you that you should be settled,—very much better. And it will be better for me. I do not mind admitting that;—though in saying so I trust greatly to your generosity to interpret my words properly."
"I shall not flatter myself, if you mean that."
"There is no question of flattery, Conway. The question is simply of truth and prudence. Do you not know that it would be better that you should be married?"
