. And only that I love you better than I love myself I
could find it in my heart to grudge you his--"
"Lily, what did you promise just now?"
"Well; after to-night. And I don't know why you should turn against
him."
"I have never turned against him or for him."
"There's no turning about him. He'd give his left hand if you'd only
smile on him. Or his right either,--and that's what I should like to
see; so now you've heard it."
"You know you are talking nonsense."
"So I should like to see it. And so would mamma too, I'm sure; though
I never heard her say a word about him. In my mind he's the finest
fellow I ever saw. What's Mr Apollo Crosbie to him? And now, as it
makes you unhappy, I'll never say another word about him."
As Bell wished her sister good-night with perhaps more than her usual
affection, it was evident that Lily's words and eager tone had in
some way pleased her, in spite of their opposition to the request
which she had made. And Lily was aware that it was so.
CHAPTER IV
Mrs Roper's Boarding-House
I have said that John Eames had been petted by none but his mother,
but I would not have it supposed, on this account, that John Eames
had no friends. There is a class of young men who never get petted,
though they may not be the less esteemed, or perhaps loved. They do
not come forth to the world as Apollos, nor shine at all, keeping
what light they may have for inward purposes. Such young men are
often awkward, ungainly, and not yet formed in their gait; they
straggle with their limbs, and are shy; words do not come to them
with ease, when words are required, among any but their accustomed
associates. Social meetings are periods of penance to them, and any
appearance in public will unnerve them. They go much about alone,
and blush when women speak to them. In truth, they are not as yet
men, whatever the number may be of their years; and, as they are no
longer boys, the world has found for them the ungraceful name of
hobbledehoy.
Such observations, however, as I have been enabled to make in this
matter have led me to believe that the hobbledehoy is by no means
the least valuable species of the human race. When I compare the
hobbledehoy of one or two and twenty to some finished Apollo of the
same age, I regard the former as unripe fruit, and the latter as
fruit that is ripe. Then comes the question as to the two fruits.
Which is the better fruit, that which ripens early,--which is,
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