in her to leave her desk open, where I know she
has money! In the lock hang the keys of all her repositories, of her
very jewel-casket. There is a purse in that little satin bag; I see the
tassel of silver beads hanging out. That spectacle would provoke my
brother Robert. All her little failings would, I know, be a source of
irritation to him. If they vex me it is a most pleasurable vexation. I
delight to find her at fault; and were I always resident with her, I am
aware she would be no niggard in thus ministering to my enjoyment. She
would just give me something to do, to rectify--a theme for my tutor
lectures. I never lecture Henry, never feel disposed to do so. If he
does wrong--and that is very seldom, dear, excellent lad!--a word
suffices. Often I do no more than shake my head. But the moment her
_minois mutin_ meets my eye, expostulatory words crowd to my lips. From
a taciturn man I believe she would transform me into a talker. Whence
comes the delight I take in that talk? It puzzles myself sometimes. The
more _crane, malin, taquin_ is her mood, consequently the clearer
occasion she gives me for disapprobation, the more I seek her, the
better I like her. She is never wilder than when equipped in her habit
and hat, never less manageable than when she and Zoe come in fiery from
a race with the wind on the hills; and I confess it--to this mute page I
may confess it--I have waited an hour in the court for the chance of
witnessing her return, and for the dearer chance of receiving her in my
arms from the saddle. I have noticed (again it is to this page only I
would make the remark) that she will never permit any man but myself to
render her that assistance. I have seen her politely decline Sir Philip
Nunnely's aid. She is always mighty gentle with her young baronet,
mighty tender for his feelings, forsooth, and of his very thin-skinned
_amour propre_. I have marked her haughtily reject Sam Wynne's. Now I
know--my heart knows it, for it has felt it--that she resigns herself to
me unreluctantly. Is she conscious how my strength rejoices to serve
her? I myself am not her slave--I declare it--but my faculties gather
to her beauty, like the genii to the glisten of the lamp. All my
knowledge, all my prudence, all my calm, and all my power stand in her
presence humbly waiting a task. How glad they are when a mandate comes!
What joy they take in the toils she assigns! Does she know it?

"I have called her careless. It is remark