She colored more vividly and suddenly, and said, “I thought you cared. I beg your pardon.”
“My dear,” he replied, amiably: “if you exclude everybody who falls in love with you, we shall have no one in the house but blind men.”
“And do you like men to be in love with me?”
“Yes. It makes the house pleasant for them; it makes them attentive to you; and it gives you great power for good. When I was a romantic boy, any good woman could have made a saint of me. Let them fall in love with you as much as they please. Afterwards they will seek wives according to a higher standard than if they had never known you. But do not return the compliment, or your influence will become an evil one.”
“Ned: I had not intended to tell you this; but now I will. Sholto Douglas not only loves me, but he told me so to-day.”
“Of course. A man always does tell it, sooner or later.”
Marian sat down on the sofa and looked at him for some time gravely and a little wistfully. “I think,” she said, “I should feel very angry if any woman made such a confession to you.”
“A Christian British lady does not readily forgive a breach of convention; nor a woman an invasion of her privileges, even when they have become a burden to her.”
“What do you mean by that?” she said, rising.
“Marian,” he said, looking straight at her: “are you dissatisfied?”