“My pretension?”
“Well, yes, pretension will do.”
“Well, my Lady, I will not quarrel with the phrase. I do 'pretend,' as we say in French. In fact, I have been little other than a pretender these last few years.”
“And what is it you pretend to? May I ask the question?”
“I do not know if I may dare to answer it,” said he, slowly.... “I will explain what I mean,” added he, after a brief silence, and drawing his chair somewhat nearer to where she sat. “I will explain. If, in one of my imaginative gossipries with a friend, I were to put forward some claim—some ambition—which would sound absurd coming from me now, but which, were I the owner of a great estate, would neither be extravagant nor ridiculous, the memory of that unlucky pretension would live against me ever after, and the laugh that my vanity excited would ring in my ears long after I had ceased to regard the sentiment as vanity at all. Do you follow me?”
“Yes, I believe I do. I would only have you remember that I am not Mr. Longworth.”
“A reason the more for my caution.”
“Could n't we converse without riddles, Count Pracontal?”
“I protest, I should like to do so.”
“And as I make no objection—”