“Lord bless you, no! We kissed one another like turtle-doves. At odd moments she wheedles me into feeling fond of her in spite of myself. She went away because I asked her to.”
“And why do you ask my guests to go away?”
“Because I wanted to be alone with you. Don’t look as if you didn’t understand. She’s told me a whole heap of things about myself that alter our affairs completely. My birth is all right; I’m heir to a county family that came over with the Conqueror, and I shall have a decent income. I can afford to give away weight to old Webber now.”
“Well,” said Lydia, sternly.
“Well,” said Cashel, unabashed, “the only use of all that to me is that I may marry if I like. No more fighting or teaching now.”
“And when you are married, will you be as tender to your wife as you are to your mother?”
Cashel’s elation vanished. “I knew you’d think that,” he said. “I am always the same with her; I can’t help it. She makes me look like a fool, or like a brute. Have I ever been so with you?”
“Yes,” said Lydia. “Except,” she added, “that you have never shown absolute dislike to me.”
“Ah! EXCEPT! That’s a very big except. But I don’t dislike her. Blood is thicker than water, and I have a softness for her; only I won’t put up with her nonsense. But it’s different with you. I don’t know how to say it; I’m not good at sentiment—not that there’s any sentiment about it. At least, I don’t mean that; but—You’re fond of me in a sort of way, ain’t you?”
“Yes; I’m fond of you in a sort of way.”