“How can you encourage such intolerable stuff?” she said, in an undertone, as he approached.
“Come with me into the window,” he answered low; and, rebelling a moment, she succumbed. It was a large room, and the movement secured them a relative privacy.
“Stuff it may be,” said he; “but ’tis the sort of ready flippancy which leads your Philip Stanhopes by the nose. Is there any truth in this Kit?”
“How should I know or care? Some former flame of his, belike, with whom they play to perplex and insult me. It is no concern of mine. I am done with him.”
“Is that true, cousin?” He looked at her very earnestly. “Nay, I can see you are not speaking the truth.”
“Can you see? What true masculine eyes! I tell you that, having formed my resolve, I am quite unconcerned and happy!”
“Ah! Women think themselves what they want to be. That is why they never understand when they are accused of being what they are.”
“Indeed! And pray what am I that I do not think myself?”
“Jealous.”
“Never!”