Amanda might
think of her as she pleased: Rowland was content. Had he cared ever
so much more for her judgment than he did, it would have been all
the same. How far Dorothy had been right or wrong in visiting
Heywood, he did not even conjecture, not to say consider. It was
enough that she who had been to him like the blank in the centre of
the African map, was now a region of marvels and possibilities,
vague but not the less interesting, or the less worthy of beholding
the interest she had awaked. As to her loving the roundhead fellow,
that would not stand long in the way.
In this period then of gloom and wretchedness, Dorothy became aware
of a certain increase of attention on the part of her cousin. This
she attributed to kindness generated of pity. But to accept it, and
so confess that she needed it, would have been to place herself too
much on a level with one whom she did not respect, while at the same
time it would confirm him in whatever probably mistaken grounds he
had for offering it.
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