"Oh, what a wiseacre!" says Dorothy, confiding her opinion to the rocks about her. "What a wonderful perceptive wiseacre! how Miss Curwen is honoured with his acquaintance!" All this in a tone of quiet sarcasm, which would have been more effectual had she not stamped her foot upon the ground. For on stamping, the heel slipped upon a loose stone, and had I not been near enough to catch her, the next instant she would have been lying full-length on the ground.
She gave something of a cry as I caught her, and sitting down, panted for a little. We both contemplated the heels. Then I drew out the paper again from my pocket.
"It was this I was considering;" and I handed it to her. "Mr. Curwen sketched it for me, and it is the way we have to go."
I pointed out the gap and the snow upon Burnmoor. She followed the direction of my gaze with a shiver, and again, but this time with equal melancholy, we fell to contemplating the heels.
"I put them on," she explained, with a touch of penitence, "before you said that about my father."
"But you could have changed them afterwards," I rejoined foolishly; and for my pains saw the penitence harden into exasperation.
"Besides, I cannot walk at all without heels," says she, briskly making a catch at her assurance.
"You cannot walk with them, I know, that's a sure thing," I persisted.
She turned to me very quietly—
"In spite of this great knowledge of yours, Mr. Clavering, of which, during the last minute, I have heard so much," she began deliberately, "there is one lesson you have yet to learn and practise. I have remarked the deficiency not only on this but on many occasions. You lack that instinct of tact and discretion which would inform you of the precise moment when you have said enough——"