“If you give those names to my thanking you for your proposal and declining it, is it my fault, Mr. Headstone?” said Lizzie, compassionating the bitter struggle he could not conceal, almost as much as she was repelled and alarmed by it.
“I am not complaining,” he returned, “I am only stating the case. I had to wrestle with my self-respect when I submitted to be drawn to you in spite of Mr. Wrayburn. You may imagine how low my self-respect lies now.”
She was hurt and angry; but repressed herself in consideration of his suffering, and of his being her brother’s friend.
“And it lies under his feet,” said Bradley, unfolding his hands in spite of himself, and fiercely motioning with them both towards the stones of the pavement. “Remember that! It lies under that fellow’s feet, and he treads upon it and exults above it.”
“He does not!” said Lizzie.
“He does!” said Bradley. “I have stood before him face to face, and he crushed me down in the dirt of his contempt, and walked over me. Why? Because he knew with triumph what was in store for me tonight.”
“O, Mr. Headstone, you talk quite wildly.”
“Quite collectedly. I know what I say too well. Now I have said all. I have used no threat, remember; I have done no more than show you how the case stands;—how the case stands, so far.”
At this moment her brother sauntered into view close by. She darted to him, and caught him by the hand. Bradley followed, and laid his heavy hand on the boy’s opposite shoulder.
“Charley Hexam, I am going home. I must walk home by myself tonight, and get shut up in my room without being spoken to. Give me