It grew in a moment much
finer, more thoughtful, wistful, human. He sprang forward, took her in
his arms, and kissed her. Then he held her from him a little, looked at
her again, and kissed her again; and with that last kiss he whispered,
"You good sister. You saved me, Charlotte, with that five hundred
pounds."
"I would have given it had it been my all, it been fifty times as much,
Harry."
There was no need to say another word. Harry and Charlotte understood
each other, and Harry turned the conversation upon his cousin.
"This Indian fellow, this Sandal of the Brahminical caste, what is he
like, Charley?"
"He does not admire me, Harry; so how can I admire him?"
"Then there must be something wrong with him in the fundamentals; a
natural-born inability to admire what is lovely and good."
"You mustn't say such a thing as that, Harry. I am sure that Sophia is
engaged to him."
"Does father like him?"
"Not much; but Julius is a Sandal, after all, and"--
"After me, the next heir. Exactly. It shall not be my fault, Charley, if
he does not stand a little farther off soon. I can get married too."
"O Harry, if you only would! It is your duty; and there is little Emily
Beverley. She is so beautiful and good, and she adores you, Harry."
"Dear little Emmy. I used to love Emmy a long time ago."
"It would make father so happy, and mother and me too. And the Beverleys
are related to mother,--and isn't mother sweet.
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