"I do not think that many people snubbed him," returned Helen with a flushed cheek and flashing eye.
"Well, perhaps you did not," returned Mr. Quentin, somewhat abashed. "You know, you never snubbed any one but me," with a mental note that she should live to be sorry for that same. "Lisle made me promise to keep his secret. He wished to be accepted for himself for once, without any arrière pensée of money or title; and by George, he got what he wanted with a vengeance—eh? I don't think he will try it again in a hurry. He found his level,—the very bottom of the ladder, something quite new!" and again he laughed heartily at the recollection.
"I suppose it was," with elaborate indifference.
"He had been having a big shoot in the Terai before he came here. He was awfully taken with this place, the queer, unconventional life, and stayed on and on greatly to my surprise. Many a time I wondered what he saw in the place, though, of course, I was delighted to have him. My luck was dead in." (So it was, vide Ibrahim's domestic accounts!)
"Yes, of course it was pleasant for you," admitted Helen.
"He should have been a poor man; he had so much energy and resource, and such Spartan tastes. Ten times a day I wished that we could change places."
"I daresay," returned the young lady rather drily.
There was something—was it a tone of lurking scorn?—in this "I daresay!" that irritated her listener, who instantly resolved to administer a rap on the knuckles in return.
"His father is wild with him for roving about the world; he wants him to marry and settle."
"Yes?"