“That’s a nice sort of thing to say to a fellow,” said Marmaduke, roused. “I have a great mind to bring you to your senses as Douglas does, by not speaking to you for a week.”
“I wish you would let me come to my senses by not speaking to me at all.”
“Oh! Well, I am off; but mind, Nelly, I am offended. We are no longer on speaking terms. Look as contemptuous as you please: you will be sorry when you think over this. Remember: you said you loathed me.”
“So I do,” said Elinor, stubbornly.
“Very good,” said Marmaduke, turning his back on her. Just then the concertinists returned from the platform, and a waiter appeared with refreshments, which the clergyman invited Marmaduke to assist him in dispensing. Conolly, considering the uncorking of bottles of soda water a sufficiently skilled labor to be more interesting than making small talk, went to the table and busied himself with the corkscrew.
“Well, Nelly,” said Marian, drawing her chair close to Miss McQuinch, and speaking in a low voice, “what do you think of Jasper’s workman?”
“Not much,” replied Elinor, shrugging her shoulders. “He is very conceited, and very coarse.”
“Do you really think so? I expected to find you delighted with his unconventionality. I thought him rather amusing.”
“I thought him extremely aggravating. I hate to have to speak to people of that sort.”
“Then you consider him vulgar,” said Marian, disappointed.