"Some aspects of the affair have troubled me lately.
Please do not be sensitive and take offence, Clive, if I
admit to you that I never have quite reconciled myself to
accepting anything from you.
"What I have accepted has been for your own sake--for the
pleasure you found in giving, not for my own sake.
"I wanted only your friendship. That was enough--more than
enough to make me happy and contented.
"I was not in want; I had sufficient; I lived better than I
had ever lived; I was self-reliant, self-supporting,
and--forgive and understand me, Clive--a little more
self-respecting than I now am.
"It is true I had saved very little; but I am young and life
is before me.
"This seems very ungrateful of me, very ungenerous after all
you have done for me--all I have taken from you.
"But, Clive, it is the truth, and I think it ought to be
told. Because this is, and has always been, a source of
self-reproach to me, whether rightly or wrongly, I don't
know. I am a novice at confession, but I feel that, if I am
to make a clean breast to you, partial confession is not
worth while, not really honest, not worthy of the very sacred
friendship that inspires it.
"So I shall shrive myself as well as I know how and continue
to admit to you my further doubts and misgivings. They are
these: my sisters do not understand your friendship for me
even if they understand mine for you--which they say they do.
"I don't think they believe me dishonest; but they cannot see
any reason for your generosity to me unless you ultimately
expect me to be dishonest.
"This has weakened my influence with them. I know I am the
youngest, yet until recently I had a certain authority in
matters regarding the common welfare and the common policy.
But this is nearly gone. They point out with perfect truth
that I myself do, with you, the very things for which I
criticise them and against which I warn them.
"Of course the radical difference is that I do these things
with you; but they can't understand why you are any better,
any finer, any more admirable, any further to be trusted than
the men they go about with alone.
"It is quite in vain that I explain to them what sort of man
you are. They retort that I merely think so.
"There is a man who takes Catharine out more frequently, and
keeps her out much later than I like. I mean Cecil Reeve. But
what I say only makes my sister sullen. She knows he is a
friend of yours.... And, Clive, I am rather afraid she is
beginning to care more for him than is quite safe for her to
ever care for any man of that class.