the common herd. But he hasn't the excuse of painting them like your friend Marbol, and making money out of them; or, like you, the prospect of becoming president of the Republic and Free City of Antwerp."
She only thought of Paridael in order to make an uncomplimentary comparison, at least in her own mind, between Bergmans and the boy. She was annoyed with Bergmans for not having been sufficiently attentive to her during the ceremony, and for having left her alone with Béjard the whole time.
"Decidedly," thought Door, "our opinions and feelings are widely separated. I would do anything to overcome the divergence. She is intelligent enough, and fundamentally she has a great deal of rectitude. If she loved me, I could easily interest her in my work and in my ideals. I should make an ally of her! If she but loved me. For in spite of her pride and disdain and her submission to convention and prejudice, she is out of place in her world. She is worth more, or will be worth more than her parents. Noble ideals and superior thoughts should find a place in her. Her beauty and her instinct contradict her education! Why should not I contend for her against the rich eligibles who are always prowling around her?"
