“I can’t say that I have exactly. No; I think I hold the same opinion respecting her as before—but slightly ameliorated.”
“Oh!” He looked round for something else to talk about; and glancing up at the moon, made some remark upon the beauty of the evening, which I did not answer, as being irrelevant to the subject.
“Lawrence,” said I, calmly looking him in the face, “are you in love with Mrs. Graham?”
Instead of his being deeply offended at this, as I more than half expected he would, the first start of surprise, at the audacious question, was followed by a tittering laugh, as if he was highly amused at the idea.
“I in love with her!” repeated he. “What makes you dream of such a thing?”
“From the interest you take in the progress of my acquaintance with the lady, and the changes of my opinion concerning her, I thought you might be jealous.”
He laughed again. “Jealous! no. But I thought you were going to marry Eliza Millward.”
“You thought wrong, then; I am not going to marry either one or the other—that I know of—”
“Then I think you’d better let them alone.”
“Are you going to marry Jane Wilson?”