The sharp little way in which she darted a look at him, half sensitively injured, and half pettishly, would have been very much admired by the late John Harmon.
‘You don’t know how well I think of you, Miss Wilfer.’
‘Truly, you must have a very high opinion of me, Mr Rokesmith, when you believe that in prosperity I neglect and forget my old home.’
‘Do I believe so?’
‘You did, sir, at any rate,’ returned Bella.
‘I took the liberty of reminding you of a little omission into which you had fallen—insensibly and naturally fallen. It was no more than that.’
‘And I beg leave to ask you, Mr Rokesmith,’ said Bella, ‘why you took that liberty?—I hope there is no offence in the phrase; it is your own, remember.’
‘Because I am truly, deeply, profoundly interested in you, Miss Wilfer. Because I wish to see you always at your best. Because I—shall I go on?’
‘No, sir,’ returned Bella, with a burning face, ‘you have said more than enough. I beg that you will not go on. If you have any generosity, any honour, you will say no more.’
The late John Harmon, looking at the proud face with the down-cast eyes, and at the quick breathing as it stirred the fall of bright brown hair over the beautiful neck, would probably have remained silent.