“Well, I feared you and Mrs. Dodd might think I praised Dodd so, and did what little I did for him, knowing who you were, and wishing to curry favour with you by all that; and that is so underhand and paltry a way of going to work, I should despise myself.”
“Oh, Mr. Hardie,” said the young lady, smiling, “How foolish: why, of course, we knew you had no idea.”
“Indeed I had not; but how could you know it?”
“Why, we saw it. Do you think we have no eyes? Ah, and much keener ones than gentlemen have. It is mamma and I who are to blame, if anybody; we ought to have declared ourselves: it would have been more generous, more—manly. But we cannot all be gentlemen, you know. It was so sweet to hear Edward praised by one who did not know us; it was like stolen fruit; and by one whom others praise: so, if you can forgive us our slyness, there is an end of the matter.”
“Forgive you? you have taken a thorn out of my soul.”
“Then I am so glad you summoned courage to speak to me without ceremony. Mamma would have done better, though; but after all, do not I know her? my mamma is all goodness and intelligence. And be assured, sir, she does you justice; and is quite sensible of your disinterested kindness to dear Edward.” With this she was about to retire.
“Ah! But you, Miss Dodd? with whom I have taken this unwarrantable liberty?” said Hardie imploringly.
“Me, Mr. Hardie? You do me the honour to require my opinion of your performances: including of course this self-introduction?”
Hardie hung his head; there was a touch of satire in the lady's voice, he thought.
Her soft eyes rested demurely on him a moment; she saw he was a little abashed.