“Why, I have not mentioned, Agnes,” said I, a little embarrassed, “that Dora is rather difficult to⁠—I would not, for the world, say, to rely upon, because she is the soul of purity and truth⁠—but rather difficult to⁠—I hardly know how to express it, really, Agnes. She is a timid little thing, and easily disturbed and frightened. Some time ago, before her father’s death, when I thought it right to mention to her⁠—but I’ll tell you, if you will bear with me, how it was.”

Accordingly, I told Agnes about my declaration of poverty, about the cookery-book, the housekeeping accounts, and all the rest of it.

“Oh, Trotwood!” she remonstrated, with a smile. “Just your old headlong way! You might have been in earnest in striving to get on in the world, without being so very sudden with a timid, loving, inexperienced girl. Poor Dora!”