And then, for some inexplicable reason, she stopped short.
"'Not in love with any one' was what she was going to say," said Caspar to himself, as he watched with keen eyes the changes of color and expression in her face. "And she does not dare to say it after all. What does that mean?" But he did not say this aloud.
"You don't care for Maurice, then?" he asked her.
She drew herself away from him and colored hotly, but made no other reply.
"My dear," said Caspar, half jestingly, half warningly, "you must let me remind you that silence is usually taken to mean consent."
And even then she did not speak.
"Really, of all incomprehensible creatures, women are the worst. Well, well! Tell me this, at any rate, Lesley: you have not given your heart to Oliver Trent?"
"Father! how can you ask?"
"Have you anything to complain of with respect to him? Has he always behaved to you with courtesy and consideration?"
"I would rather not say," Lesley answered, bravely. "He—spoke as I did not like—once—or twice; but it is his wedding-day to-morrow, and I mean to forget it all."