This mixture of simplicity and
self-appreciation, of ignorance of the mind of others combined with a
knowledge of the claims of his own, took May's fancy; she laughed a
little as she determined that the general opinion of the matter must be
kept from his ears, and his robust confidence in the world's admiration
of him preserved.
"You say you know me so well," she said. "I know very, very little of
you; and of what I know there's a lot that's bad."
He was not in the temper that had inspired his confession of bad manners
and bad morals on Duty Hill. He was inclined, as at such a moment he
might be pardonably, to make light of his faults. He was not alarmed when
she declared that if she found out anything very bad she would not after
all become his wife.
"At any moment that you repent, you're free," he said gaily. But she
answered gravely,
"There'll be a great many moments when I shall repent. You see I don't
think I really love you." He looked puzzled. "You know what I mean? Real
love is so beautifully undiscriminating, isn't it? I'm not a bit
undiscriminating about you; and that'll make me miserable often; it'll
make you angry too.
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