Mr Arabin looked at her piteously. It seemed to him as though he were being interrogated by some inner spirit of his own, to whom he could not refuse an answer, and to whom he did not dare to give a false reply.
'Come, Mr Arabin, confess; do you succeed? Is money so contemptible? Is worldly power so worthless? Is feminine beauty a trifle to be so slightly regarded by a wise man?'
'Feminine beauty!' said he, gazing into her face, as though all the feminine beauty in the world was concentrated there. 'Why do you say I do not regard it?'
'If you look at me like that, Mr Arabin, I shall alter my opinion—or should do so, were I not of course aware that I have no beauty of my own worth regarding.'
The gentleman blushed crimson, but the lady did not blush at all. A slightly increased colour animated her face, just so much so as to give her an air of special interest. She expected a compliment from her admirer, but she was rather grateful than otherwise by finding that he did not pay it to her. Messrs Slope and Thorne, Messrs Brown, Jones and Robinson, they all paid her compliments. She was rather in hopes that she would ultimately succeed in inducing Mr Arabin to abuse her.
'But your gaze,' said she, 'is one of wonder, and not of admiration. You wonder at my audacity in asking you such questions about yourself.'
'Well, I do rather,' said he.
'Nevertheless I expect an answer, Mr Arabin. Why were women made beautiful if men are not to regard them?'
'But men do regard them,' he replied.
'And why not you?'