Dora started and straightened herself in her seat; it looked as if the rash remark were to be met with a burst of indignation, but, a second later, she leant back again and smiled scornfully.
“How can you be so silly, Mr. Ellerton?” she asked.
“We both of us,” pursued Charlie, “see now that we made up our minds to be very foolish; we both of us mistook our real feelings; we’re beginning—at least I began some time ago, and you’re beginning now—to understand the true state of affairs.”
“Oh, I know what you mean, and I ought to be very angry, I suppose; but it’s too absurd.”
“Not in the least. The absurd thing is your fancying that you care about this follow Ashforth.”
“No, you must really stop, you must indeed. I don’t——”
“I know the sort of fellow he is—a dull dry chap, who makes love as if he was dancing a minuet.”
“You’re quite wrong.”
“And kisses you as if it was part of the church service.”
This last description, applied to John Ashforth’s manner of wooing, had enough of aptness to stir Dora into genuine resentment.