The friends of Miss Penrhys were ill advised in trying to cry down a man like my father.  Active persecution was the breath of life to him.  When untroubled he was apt to let both his ambition and his dignity slumber.  The squibs and scandal set afloat concerning him armed his wit, nerved his temper, touched him with the spirit of enterprise; he became a new creature.  I lost sight of certain characteristics which I had begun to ponder over critically.  I believed with all my heart that circumstances were blameable for much that did not quite please me.  Upon the question of his magnanimity, as well as of his courage, there could not be two opinions.  He would neither retort nor defend himself.  I perceived some grandeur in his conduct, without, however, appreciating it cordially, as I did a refinement of discretion about him that kept him from brushing good taste while launched in ostentatious displays.  He had a fine tact and a keen intuition.  He may have thought it necessary to throw a little dust in my eyes; but I doubt his having done it, for he had only, as he knew, to make me jealous to blind me to his faults utterly, and he refrained.

In his allusions to the young lady he was apologetic, affectionate; one might have fancied oneself listening to a gracious judge who had well weighed her case, and exculpated her from other excesses than that of a generous folly.  Jorian DeWitt, a competent critic, pronounced his behaviour consummate at all points.  For my behoof, he hinted antecedent reverses to the picture:  meditating upon which, I traced them to the fatal want of money, and that I might be able to fortify him in case of need, I took my own counsel, and wrote to my aunt for the loan of as large a sum as she could afford to send.  Her eagerness for news of our doings was insatiable.  ‘You do not describe her,’ she replied, not naming Miss Penrhys; and again, ’I can form no image of her.  Your accounts of her are confusing.  Tell me earnestly, do you like her?  She must be very wilful, but is she really nice?  I want to know how she appears to my Harry’s mind.’

My father borrowed these letters, and returning them to me, said, ’ A good soul! the best of women!  There—­there is a treasure lost!’ His forehead was clouded in speaking.  He recommended me to assure my aunt that she would never have to take a family interest in Miss Penrhys.  But this was not deemed perfectly satisfactory at Riversley.  My aunt wrote:  ’Am I to understand that you, Harry, raise objections to her?  Think first whether she is in herself objectionable.  She is rich, she may be prudent, she may be a forethoughtful person.  She may not be able to support a bitter shock of grief.  She may be one who can help.  She may not be one whose heart will bear it.  Put your own feelings aside, my dearest.  Our duties cannot ever be clear to us until we do.  It is possible for headstrong wilfulness and secret tenderness to go together.  Think whether she is capable of sacrifice before you compel her to it.  Do not inflict misery wantonly.  One would like to see her.  Harry, I brood on your future; that is why I seem to you preternaturally anxious about you.’