“Unfortunate man,” said Miss Elizabeth, “don’t you see how clear you’re making it that you really meant to hide from us?”
There seemed to be something in that, and my tirade broke up in confusion. “Oh, no,” I said lamely, “I hoped—I hoped—”
“Be careful!”
“No; I hoped to work down here,” I blurted. “And I thought if I saw too much of you—I might not.”
She looked at me with widening eyes. “And I can take my choice,” she cried, “of all the different things you may mean by that! It’s either the most outrageous speech I ever heard—or the most flattering.”
“But I meant simply—”
“No.” She lifted her hand and stopped me. “I’d rather believe that I have at least the choice—and let it go at that.” And as I began to laugh, she turned to me with a gravity apparently so genuine that for the moment I was fatuous enough to believe that she had said it seriously. Ensued a pause of some duration, which, for my part, I found disturbing. She broke it with a change of subject.
“You think Louise very lovely to look at, don’t you?”
“Exquisite,” I answered.
“Every one does.”