“Either I do not understand you, or you mistake me,—which is it?” said she, boldly.
“My dear young lady,” said Dunn, hastily, “do not let me offend you. There is everything in what you have done this night to secure you respect and esteem. We live in a time when there is wonderfully little of personal devotion; and commonplace men like myself may well misjudge its sacrifices.”
“And yet it is precisely from you I should have expected the reverse. If great minds are tainted with littleness, where are we to look for high and noble sentiments?” She moved towards the door as she spoke; and Dunn, anticipating her, said,—
“Do not go for a moment; let me offer you some refreshment, even a glass of wine. Well, then, your friend? It is scarcely courteous to leave him outside in such weather.”
“Pray forgive me not accepting your offer; but I am impatient to be at home again. My father, too, will be distressed at my absence.”
“But I will send my carriage with you; you shall not walk,” said he, ringing the bell.
“Do not think me ungrateful, but I had rather return as I came. You have no idea, sir, how painfully kindness comes to hearts like ours. A sense of pride sustains us through many a trial; break down this, and we are helpless.”
“Is it that you will accept nothing at my hands,—even the most commonplace of attentions? Well, I'll try if I cannot be more fortunate elsewhere;” and so saying, he hurried at once from the room. Before Sybella could well reflect on his words, he was back again, followed by Charles Conway.
“Miss Kellett was disposed to test your Crimean habits again, my good fellow,” said Dunn, “by keeping you out there under this terrible rain, and I perceive you have got some rough treatment already;” and he looked at the armless sleeve of his jacket.
“Yes,” said Conway, laughing, “a piece of Russian politeness!”