“I'm glad to learn this fact from such good authority,” said she, with a slight bend of the head.
“A prettily turned compliment, Miss Dill. Are you habitually given to flattery?”
“No? I rather think not. I believe the world is pleased to call me more candid than courteous.”
“Will you let me take you at the world's estimate,—that is, will you do me the inestimable favor to bestow a little of this same candor upon me?”
“Willingly. What is to be the subject of it?”
“The subject is a very humble one,—myself!”
“How can I possibly adjudicate on such a theme?”
“Better than you think for, perhaps!” And for a moment he appeared awkward and ill at ease. “Miss Dill,” said he, after a pause, “fortune has been using me roughly of late; and, like all men who deem themselves hardly treated, I fly at once to any quarter where I fancy I have found a more kindly disposition towards me. Am I indulging a self-delusion in believing that such sentiments are yours?”
Polly Dill, with her own keen tact, had guessed what was the real object of Stapylton's visit. She had even read in her father's manner how he himself was a shareholder in the scheme, and she had made up her mind for a great frankness on each side; but now, seeing the diplomatic mys-teriousness with which the Major opened his attack, that love of mischievous drollery which entered into her nature suggested a very different line. She determined, in fact, to seem to accept the Major's speech as the preliminary to an offer of his hand. She therefore merely turned her head slightly, and in a low voice said, “Continue!”
“I have not deceived myself, then,” said he, with more warmth of manner. “I have secured one kind heart in my interest?”