Mr. Moore's dark face mustered colour; his lips smiled, and yet were compressed; his eyes laughed, and yet he resolutely knit his brow.
"Think meanly of me, Lina," said he. "Men, in general, are a sort of scum, very different to anything of which you have an idea. I make no pretension to be better than my fellows."
"If you did, I should not esteem you so much. It is because you are modest that I have such confidence in your merit."
"Are you flattering me?" he demanded, turning sharply upon her, and searching her face with an eye of acute penetration.
"No," she said softly, laughing at his sudden quickness. She seemed to think it unnecessary to proffer any eager disavowal of the charge.

Mr. Moore's face coloured; his lips smiled, and yet were compressed; his eyes laughed, and yet he knit his brow.
"Think meanly of me, Lina," said he. "Men, in general, are a sort of scum, and I am no better than my fellows."
"It is because you are modest that I have such confidence in your merit."
"Then why do you say this, Caroline?" he demanded sharply.
