"Indeed! No doubt, then, you are wise, even from a worldly point of view, in refusing the man your people want you to marry, and taking—such extreme measures not to let yourself be over persuaded," said Mr. Dane, stiffly, in a changed tone, not at all friendly or nice, as before. "I meant to advise you not to go on to England with Lady Turnour, as the whole situation is so unsuitable; but now, of course, I shall say no more."
"It was about something else I wanted advice," I reminded him. "But I suppose I must have bored you. You suddenly seem so cross."
"I am not in the least cross," he returned, ferociously. "Why should I be?—even if I had a right, which I haven't."
"Not the right of a brother?"
"Hang the rights of a brother!" exclaimed Mr. Dane.
"Then don't you want to be my brother any more?"
He walked away from me a few steps, down the corridor, then turned abruptly and came back. "It isn't a question of what I want," said he, "but of what I can have. Sometimes I think that after all you're nothing but an outrageous little flirt."
"Sometimes? Why, you've only known me two days. As if you could judge!"
"Far be it from me to judge. But it seems as though the two days were two years."
"Thank you. Well, I may be a flirt—the French side of me, when the other side isn't looking. But I'm not flirting with you."