not watch, and calculate its
effect as regarded himself. But because she was tender to him and
observant, he did not by any means allow himself to believe that her
heart was growing into love for him. He thought that he understood the
working of her mind. She could see how great was his disgust at her
brother's doings; how fretted he was by her mother's conduct. Her
grace, and sweetness, and sense, took part with him against those who
were nearer to herself, and therefore,--in pity,--she was kind to him. It
was thus he read it, and he read it almost with exact accuracy.

'Hetta,' he said after breakfast, 'come out into the garden awhile.'

'Are not you going to the men?'

'Not yet, at any rate. I do not always go to the men as you call it.'
She put on her hat and tripped out with him, knowing well that she had
been summoned to hear the old story. She had been sure, as soon as she
found the white rose in her room, that the old story would be repeated
again before she left Carbury;--and, up to this time, she had hardly
made up her mind what answer she would give to it. That she could not
take his offer, she thought she did know. She knew well that she loved
the other man. That other man had never asked her for her love, but
she thought that she knew that he desired it. But in spite of all this
there had in truth grown up in her bosom a feeling of tenderness
towards her cousin so strong that it almost tempted her to declare to
herself that he ought to have what he wanted, simply because he wanted
it. He was so good, so noble, so generous, so devoted, that it almost
seemed to her that she could not be justified in refusing him. And she
had gone entirely over to his side in regard to the Melmottes. Her
mother had talked to her of the charm of Mr Melmotte's money, till her
very heart had been sickened. There was nothing noble there; but, as
contrasted with that, Roger's conduct and bearing were those of a fine
gentleman who knew neither fear nor shame. Should such a one be doomed
to pine for ever because a girl could not love him,--a man born to be
loved, if nobility and tenderness and truth were lovely!

'Hetta,' he said, 'put your arm here.' She gave him her arm. 'I was a
little annoyed last night by that priest. I want to be civil to him,
and now he is always turning against me.'

'He doesn't do any harm, I suppose?'

'He does do harm if he teaches you and me to think lightly of those
things which we have been broug