“Don’t mention it,” said Charlie, flinging his arm over the back of the seat and looking at his companion.
“And now—in the end,” pursued Dora, “I’m actually a little sorry to leave all this; it’s so beautiful,” and she waved her parasol vaguely at the hills and the islands, while with the other hand she took off her hat and allowed the breeze to blow through her hair.
“It is jolly, isn’t it?” she asked.
“I should rather think it was,” said Charlie. “The jolliest I’ve ever seen.” It was evident that he did not refer to the scenery.
“Oh, you promised you wouldn’t,” cried Dora reproachfully.
“Well, then, I’ll promise again,” he replied, smiling amiably.
“What must I think of you, when only a week or so ago——? Oh, and what must you think of me to suppose I could? Oh, Mr. Ellerton!”
“Like to know what I think of you?” inquired Charlie, quite unperturbed by this passionate rebuke.
“Certainly not,” said she, with dignity, and turned away. A moment later, however, she attacked him again.
“And you’ve done nothing,” she said indignantly, “but suggest to papa interesting places to stop at on the way, and things he ought to see in Paris. Yes, and you actually suggested going home by sea from Marseilles. And all the time you knew it was vital to me to get home as soon as possible. To me? Yes, and to you last week. Shall I tell you something, Mr. Ellerton?”