"Truth in a beautiful woman," began the captain, sentimentally; but Miss Darrell again interrupted him—she had little patience with his platitudes.
"You say you wish for my friendship because you like me. Now, here is the difficulty—I cannot give it to you, because I do not like you."
"You do not like me?" cried the captain, hardly able to believe the evidence of his own senses. "You cannot mean it! You are the first person who ever said such a thing!"
"Perhaps I am not the first who ever thought it; but then, as I tell you, I am very apt to say what I think."
"Will you tell me why you do not like me?" asked the captain, quietly. He began to see that nothing could be gained in any other fashion.
Her beautiful face was raised quite calmly to his, her dark eyes were as proudly serene as ever, she was utterly unconscious that she was saying anything extraordinary.
"I will tell you with pleasure," she replied. "You seem to me wanting in truth and earnestness; you think people are to be pleased by flattery. You flatter Sir Oswald, you flatter Miss Hastings, you flatter me. Being agreeable is all very well, but an honest man does not need to flatter—does not think of it, in fact. Then, you are either heedless or cruel—I do not know which. Why should you kill that beautiful flower that Heaven made to enjoy the sunshine, just for one idle moment's wanton sport?"
Captain Langton's face grew perfectly white with anger.
"Upon my word of honor," he said, "I never heard anything like this!"
Miss Darrell turned carelessly away.