'
'YOU think it is, perhaps?'
'I should say,' he returned, sipping his wine, 'there could be no doubt
about it. Well; we, in trifling with this jingling toy, have had
the ill-luck to jostle and fall out. We are not what the world calls
friends; but we are as good and true and loving friends for all that, as
nine out of every ten of those on whom it bestows the title. You have a
niece, and I a son--a fine lad, Haredale, but foolish. They fall in
love with each other, and form what this same world calls an attachment;
meaning a something fanciful and false like the rest, which, if it took
its own free time, would break like any other bubble. But it may not
have its own free time--will not, if they are left alone--and the
question is, shall we two, because society calls us enemies, stand
aloof, and let them rush into each other's arms, when, by approaching
each other sensibly, as we do now, we can prevent it, and part them?'
'I love my niece,' said Mr Haredale, after a short silence. 'It may
sound strangely in your ears; but I love her.'
'Strangely, my good fellow!' cried Mr Chester, lazily filling his glass
again, and pulling out his toothpick. 'Not at all.
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