love with."

"Possibly Mrs. Baxter only perceives the wretched underwood."

"Inevitably," said May.

"For heaven's sake don't drift into thinking that you're the only person
who can understand him. Once think that about anybody and you're his
slave."

"Perhaps I'm the only person who takes the trouble. I don't claim genius,
only diligence."

"Well, you're very diligent," Morewood grunted.

She sat looking straight in front of her for a few moments in silence,
while Morewood admired the curve of her chin and the moulding of her
throat.

"I feel," she said in a low voice and slowly, "as if I must see what
becomes of him and as if it ought to be seen at close quarters."

Then Morewood spoke with deliberate plainness.

"You know better than I do that he's not of your class; I mean in
himself, not merely where he happens to come from. And for my part I'm
not sure that he's an honest man, and I don't think he's a high-minded
one."

"Do you believe people are bound to be always just what they are now?"
she asked.

"Thinking you can improve them is the one thing more dangerous to
yourself than thinking you've a special gift for understanding them. To
be quite plain, both generally end in love-affairs and, what's more,
unhappy love-affairs."

"Oh, I'm not in love with Mr. Quisante. You're going back to your narrow
loving-hating theory."

"Hum. I'm inclined to think that nature shares my narrowness."

If May got small comfort from this conversation, Morewood got less, and
the rest of the party, judging from what he let drop about his
impressions of May's state of mind, none at all. Lady Richard was of
opinion that a crisis approached and re-echoed her cry, "Not here
anyhow!" But Quisante's demeanour at once confirmed her fears and ignored
her protest. He had many faults and weaknesses, but he was not the man to
shrink from a big stake and a great throw. His confidence in his powers
was the higher owing to his blindness to his defects. May Gaston had
indeed opened his eyes to some degree, but here again, as she showed him
continued favour, he found good excuse for dwelling on the interest which
inspired rather than on the frankness which characterised her utterance.
She had bidden him be himself; then to her that was a thing worth being.
As he believed himself able to conquer all external obstacles in his
path, so he vaguely supposed that he could overcome and obliterate
anything there might be wrong in himself