“I am in a hurry,” she replied, her nostrils dilating at his touch; but instantly remembering the part she was playing, she returned his pleasant smile.
“You have been—a—out while the amiable Mrs. Preedy sleeps.”
This observation warned her that Richard Manx knew more about the household movements than she expected. “I have no fool to deal with,” she thought. “He shall have as much of my confidence as I choose to give him; he will find me his match.”
“Yes,” she said aloud, with a bright look; “but don’t tell Mrs. Preedy; she might be angry with me.”
“You speak,” he said in a tone of lofty satisfaction, “to a gentleman.”
“I wanted to buy a ribbon,” said Becky, artlessly, “and it isn’t easy to choose the exact colour one would like at night, so I thought I would steal out, just as I am, while Mrs. Preedy took her nap.”
“Steal out—ah, yes, I understand—just as you are, charming!”
“And now, although I couldn’t match my ribbon—it was a very light pink I wanted—I must get back quickly.”
All the while they were talking he was sucking and chewing a sweetmeat; having disposed of it, he popped another into his mouth.
“Quickly,” he repeated, bending down, so that his face was on a level with hers. “That is—a—soon. Will you?”