“Oh, that were useless; the mistake was in not—No matter—it was never a question wherein I could have a voice. Has n't the night grown colder?”
“No; it's just what it was when we came out,” said he, gruffly. “Now that you know all this affair,” resumed he, after a lapse of some minutes, “there 's another matter I 'd like to talk over; it touches yourself, too, and we may as well have it now as later. What about Beecher; he has been paying you attentions, hasn't he?”
“None beyond what I may reasonably expect from one in his position towards me.”
“Yes, but he has, though. I sent over Lienstahl to report to me, and he says that Beecher's manner implied attachment, and yours showed no repugnance to him. Is this true?”
“It may be, for aught I know,” said she, indifferently. “Mr. Beecher probably knows what he meant. I certainly can answer for myself, and will say that whatever my manner might imply, my heart—if that be the name for it—gave no concurrence to what the Count attributed to me.”
“Do you dislike him?”
“Dislike? No; certainly not; he is too gentle, too obliging, too conciliating in manner, too well bred to create dislike. He is not very brilliant—”
“He 'll be a peer,” broke in Davis.
“I suspect that all his views of life are deeply tinged with prejudice?”
“He'll be a peer,” continued Davis.