"You think me a great deal too sure—too confident?" said Harold.
"Not at all. It is an immense advantage to know your own will, when you always mean to have it."
"But suppose I couldn't get it, in spite of meaning?" said Harold, with a beaming inquiry in his eyes.
"O then," said Esther, turning her head aside, carelessly, as if she were considering the distant birch-stems, "you would bear it quite easily, as you did your not getting into Parliament. You would know you could get it another time—or get something else as good."
"The fact is," said Harold, moving on a little, as if he did not want to be quite overtaken by the others, "you consider me a fat, fatuous, self-satisfied fellow."
"O there are degrees," said Esther, with a silvery laugh; "you have just as much of those qualities as is becoming. There are different styles. You are perfect in your own."
"But you prefer another style, I suspect. A more submissive, tearful, devout worshipper, who would offer his incense with more trembling."
"You are quite mistaken," said Esther, still
