"
Vavasour dropped his eyes, for was it not true? but he raised them
again more fiercely than ever.
"Curse you! I owe you nothing. It was you who made me ashamed of it.
You rhymed on it, and laughed about poetry coming out of such a name."
"And what if I did? Are poets to "be made of nothing but tinder and
gall?" Why could you not take an honest joke as it was meant, and
go your way like other people, till you had shown yourself worth
something, and won honour even, for the name of Briggs?"
"And I have! I have my own station now, my own fame, sir, and it is
nothing to you what I choose to call myself. I have won my place, I
say, and your mean envy cannot rob me of it."
"You have your station. Very good," said Tom, not caring to notice the
imputation; "you owe the greater part of it to your having made a most
fortunate marriage, for which I respect you, as a practical man. Let
your poetry be what it may (and people tell me that it is really very
beautiful), your match shows me that you are a clever, and therefore a
successful person."
"Do you take me for a sordid schemer, like yourself? I loved what was
worthy of me, and won it because I deserved it."
"Then, having won it, treat it as it deserves," said Tom, with a cool
searching look, before which Vavasour's eyes fell again. "Understand
me, Mr. John Briggs; it is of no consequence to me what you call
yourself: but it is of consequence to me that I should not have a
patient in my parish whom I cannot cure; for I cannot cure broken
hearts, though they will be simple enough to come to me for medicine.
Pages:
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271