“Perhaps I suspect it.”
“It is that after paying most marked attention to his daughter, I have suddenly ceased to follow up my suit, and declared that I meant nothing by it.”
“Well?” said she, quietly.
“Well,” repeated he. “Surely no one knows better than you that there was no foundation for this.”
“I! how should I know it?”
“At all events,” replied he, with some irritation of manner, “you could n't believe it.”
“I declare I don't know,” said she, hesitatingly, for the spirit of drollery had got the better even of the deep interest of the moment,—“I declare I don't know, Mr. Maitland. There is a charm in the manner of an unsophisticated country girl which men of the world are often the very first to acknowledge.”
“Charming unsophistication!” muttered he, half aloud.
“At all events, Mr. Maitland, it is no reason that because you don't admire a young lady, you are to shoot her papa.”
“How delightfully illogical you are!” said he; and, strangely enough, there was an honest admiration in the way he said it.