The situation reminded Mr. Fairfax of his first meeting with Clarissa. But
she was altered since then: that charming air of girlish candour, which he
had found so fascinating, had now given place to a womanly self-possession
that puzzled him not a little. He could make no headway against that calm
reserve, which was yet not ungracious. He felt that from first to last in
this business he had been a fool. He had shown his cards in his anger, and
Clarissa had taken alarm.
He was something less than a deliberate villain: but he loved her; he loved
her, and until now fate had always given him the thing that he cared for.
Honest Daniel Granger, sleeping the sleep of innocence, seemed to him
nothing more than a gigantic stumbling-block in his way. He was utterly
reckless of consequences--of harm done to others, above all--just as his
father had been before him. Clarissa's rejection had aroused the worst
attributes of his nature--an obstinate will, a boundless contempt for any
human creature not exactly of his own stamp--for that prosperous trader,
Daniel Granger, for instance--and a pride that verged upon the diabolic.
So, during that brief express journey, he sat talking gaily enough to
Clarissa about the Parisian opera-houses, the last new plays at the Gymnase
and the Odeon, the May races at Chantilly, and so on; yet hatching his
grand scheme all the while. It had taken no definite shape as yet, but it
filled his mind none the less.
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