ve looked for. I have no position and no fortune; I can give
Gertrude no place in the world. A place in the world--that 's what she
ought to have; that would bring her out."

"A place to do her duty!" remarked Mr. Wentworth.

"Ah, how charmingly she does it--her duty!" Felix exclaimed, with a
radiant face. "What an exquisite conception she has of it! But she comes
honestly by that, dear uncle." Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte both looked
at him as if they were watching a greyhound doubling. "Of course with
me she will hide her light under a bushel," he continued; "I being the
bushel! Now I know you like me--you have certainly proved it. But you
think I am frivolous and penniless and shabby! Granted--granted--a
thousand times granted. I have been a loose fish--a fiddler, a painter,
an actor. But there is this to be said: In the first place, I fancy
you exaggerate; you lend me qualities I have n't had. I have been a
Bohemian--yes; but in Bohemia I always passed for a gentleman. I wish
you could see some of my old camarades--they would tell you! It was
the liberty I liked, but not the opportunities! My sins were all
peccadilloes; I always respected my neighbor's property--my neighbor's
wife. Do you see, dear uncle?" Mr. Wentworth ought to have seen; his
cold blue eyes were intently fixed. "And then, c'est fini! It 's all
over. Je me range. I have settled down to a jog-trot. I find I can earn
my living--a very fair one--by going about the world and painting
bad portraits. It 's not a glorious profession, but it is a perfectly
respectable one. You won't deny that, eh? Going about the world, I say?
I must not deny that, for that I am afraid I shall always do--in quest
of agreeable sitters. When I say agreeable, I mean susceptible of
delicate flattery and prompt of payment. Gertrude declares she is
willing to share my wanderings and help to pose my models. She even
thinks it will be charming; and that brings me to my third point.
Gertrude likes me. Encourage her a little and she will tell you so."

Felix's tongue obviously moved much faster than the imagination of his
auditors; his eloquence, like the rocking of a boat in a deep, smooth
lake, made long eddies of silence. And he seemed to be pleading and
chattering still, with his brightly eager smile, his uplifted eyebrows,
his expressive mouth, after he had ceased speaking, and while, with his
glance quickly turning from the father to the daughter, he sat waiting
for the effect