“No.”
“But you said you liked giving advice?”
“And so I do; it is, you know, the only thing that everybody is disposed to give, and nobody likes to take. Ask my advice, and I shall give it; although I know beforehand you will not make use of it.”
“Just as much as either John or Archy.”
“No such thing! My advice to them would have been enforced by a little delegated parental authority, not to mention the probability of their having, from hearsay, very exalted ideas of my wisdom.”
“I doubt if their ideas on that subject could possibly be more exalted than mine.”
“Very appropriately answered—you really are an extremely promising young man.”
Hamilton bit his lip and blushed; there was something in her manner so mocking, so unequivocally ironical, that he felt mortified—his silent irritation betraying itself in spite of all his endeavours at concealment.
“You are offended,” she observed, quietly, after a pause, “and offended without any cause. I have, all my life, had a particular antipathy to very young men—it is quite impossible to talk to them without making remarks which they consider derogatory to their dignity. I did not mean to annoy you, and recall my words; instead of a promising, I now think you an irritable young man. Does that please you better?”
“Infinitely better,” he answered, laughing; “if not the words, certainly the manner is preferable. I can bear anything but being turned into ridicule.”