“When I learn by what right you ask me that question, I 'll answer it,” said she, just as defiantly.
Tony's face became crimson, and he could not utter a word. At last he stammered out, “I have a friend here,—Mr. Darner: he is just come over to pay a visit at Tilney, and Mrs. Maxwell sends him a note to say that they are all ill there.”
“Only Bella, and she is better.”
“And was Bella ill?” asked Tony, eagerly.
“Yes, since Tuesday or Wednesday, and even up to Friday, very ill. There was a time this could scarcely have happened without your coming to ask after her.”
“Is it my fault, Alice? First of all, I never knew it. You know well I go nowhere. I do not mix with those who frequent grand houses. But tell me of Bella.”
“She was never alarmingly ill; but the doctor called it scarlatina, and frightened every one away; and poor Mrs. Maxwell has not yet recovered the shock of seeing her guests depart and her house deserted, for Bella and myself are all that remain.”
“May I present my friend to you?—he would take it as such a favor,” asked Tony, timidly.
“I think not,” said she, with an air of indolence.
“Do let me; he saw your picture—that picture of you and Bella at the Exhibition—and he is wild to see yourself. Don't refuse me, Alice.”