“You wrong me egregiously, then,” said Stocmar, calmly. “I am ready to pledge you my word of honor that I never uttered your name, nor made a single allusion to you in any way. Will that satisfy you?”
“It ought,” muttered he, gloomily; “but suspicions and distrusts spring up in a mind like mine just as weeds do in a rank soil. Don't be angry with me, old fellow.”
“I 'm not angry with you, Ludlow, except in so far as you wrong yourself. Why, my dear boy, the pursuit of a foolish spite is like going after a bad debt. All the mischief you could possibly wish this poor woman could never repay you.”
“How can you know that without feeling as I feel?” retorted he, bitterly. “If I were to show you her letters,” began he; and then, as if ashamed of his ignoble menace, he stopped and was silent.
“Why not think seriously of this heiress she speaks of? I saw her yesterday as she came back from riding; her carriage was awaiting her at the Piazza del Popolo, and there was actually a little crowd gathered to see her alight.”
“Is she so handsome, then?” asked he, half listlessly.
“She is beautiful; I doubt if I ever saw as lovely a face or as graceful a figure.”
“I 'll wager my head on't, Loo is handsomer; I 'll engage to thrust my hand into the fire if Loo's foot is not infinitely more beautiful.”
“She has a wonderfully handsome foot, indeed,” muttered Stocmar.
“And so you have seen it,” said Paten, sarcastically. “I wish you 'd be frank with me, and say how far the flirtation went between you.”