I don't claim any credit for it. It seems to me no more
than what a man in my position ought to do. But I own
that to come in, actually tired out from a tramp like that,
and get blown-up by one's own sister for selfishness and
heartlessness and miserliness and all the rest of it--I
must say, that's a bit rum."
Louisa did not wince under this reproach as she might have been
expected to do, nor was there any perceptible amelioration
in the heavy frown with which she continued to regard him.
But her words, uttered after some consideration, came in a
tone of voice which revealed a desire to avoid offense.
"It won't matter to you, your getting blown-up by me,
if you're really occupying your mind with that sort of thing.
You're too used to it for that."
He would have liked a less cautious acceptance of his
assurances than this--but after all, one did not look to Louisa
for enthusiasms. The depth of feeling she had disclosed
on this subject of London's poor still astonished him,
but principally now because of its unlikely source.
If she had been notoriously of an altruistic and
free-handed disposition, he could have understood it.
But she had been always the hard, dry, unemotional one;
by comparison with her, he felt himself to be a volatile
and even sentimental person. If she had such views
as these, it became clear to him that his own views
were even much advanced.
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