David rose and stood before her looking down into her eyes. He could not control his voice in speaking, and she felt his hands quiver as they rested on her shoulders. "When did you read that book, Cassandra? Where did you find it?" he asked, in dismay.
"Among your books in the cabin. I felt at first that it must be a kind of a disgrace to be a lord—as if every one who had a title or education must be mean and low, and all the rest of the world over there must be fools; but because of you, David, I knew better than to believe that. Your mother is not like those women, either. She was kind and beautiful, and—I—loved her, but all the more I saw the difference. But now you have come to me and made me strong, I can do it. Everything has grown clear to me again, and I see how you gave yourself to me—to save me—when you did not dream of what was to be for you in the future; and out of your giving has come the—little son, and he is yours. Wait! Don't take me in your arms." She placed her hands on his breast and held him from her.
"So it was just now—when you spoke as if people would understand me better because of that little silver pot, showing I had somewhere in the past a name and a family like theirs over there—I thought of 'Vanity Fair,' and I hated it. I wish you had never seen it. There is, nor has been, nothing on earth to make me possible for you, now—your inheritance has come to you. I have a pride, too, David, a different kind of pride from theirs. You loved me first, I know, as I was—just me. It was a foolish love for you to have, David dear,—but I know it is true; you