“Oh, that I am idle and extravagant. Well, I am not fit to be a poor man. I should not have made a bad fellow if I had been rich.”
“You would have done your duty in that state of life to which it has not pleased God to call you,” said Mary, laughing.
“Well, I couldn’t do my duty as a clergyman, any more than you could do yours as a governess. You ought to have a little fellow-feeling there, Mary.”
“I never said you ought to be a clergyman. There are other sorts of work. It seems to me very miserable not to resolve on some course and act accordingly.”
“So I could, if—” Fred broke off, and stood up, leaning against the mantelpiece.
“If you were sure you should not have a fortune?”
“I did not say that. You want to quarrel with me. It is too bad of you to be guided by what other people say about me.”
“How can I want to quarrel with you? I should be quarrelling with all my new books,” said Mary, lifting the volume on the table. “However naughty you may be to other people, you are good to me.”
“Because I like you better than anyone else. But I know you despise me.”
“Yes, I do—a little,” said Mary, nodding, with a smile.
“You would admire a stupendous fellow, who would have wise opinions about everything.”
“Yes, I should.” Mary was sewing swiftly, and seemed provokingly mistress of the situation.