CONFIDENCE
"Ah, what an odious necessity!"
"Necessities usually are odious. But women meet them. Men evade them and shirk them."
"I contest your proposition. Women are themselves necessities; but they are not odious ones!" And Bernard added, in a moment, "One couldn't evade them, if they were!"
"I object to being called a necessity," said Angela Vivian. "It diminishes one's merit."
"Ah, but it enhances the charm of life!"
"For men, doubtless!"
"The charm of life is very great," Bernard went on, looking up at the dusky hills and the summer stars, seen through a sort of mist of music and talk, and of powdery light projected from the softly lurid windows of the gaming-rooms. "The charm of life is extreme. I am unacquainted with odious necessities. I object to nothing!"
Angela Vivian looked about her as he had done—looked perhaps a moment longer at the summer stars; and if she had not already proved herself a young lady of a contradictory turn, it might have been supposed she was just then tacitly admitting the charm of life to be considerable.
"Do you suppose Miss Evers often resigns herself to being disagreeable—for a purpose?" asked Longueville, who had glanced at Captain Lovelock's companion again.
"She can't be disagreeable; she is too gentle, too soft."
"Do you mean too silly?"
"I don't know that I call her silly. She is not very wise; but she has no pretensions—absolutely none—so that one is not struck with anything incongruous."
"What a terrible description! I suppose one ought to have a few pretensions."
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