The next moment she was sorry she had said so, for his namesake in "Kenilworth" could never have worn a more melancholy aspect than he, as he answered in a very low voice of deep feeling, "I am the last man in the world to be reproached with too little affection for Fern Torr."
Marian was grieved, surprised, confused, but she had no time to find an answer, for the quadrille was forming, Edmund began a search for vis à vis, and she found herself dancing before she had made up her mind what she should have said if she could have replied at once; but it was too late to return to the subject, and she thought it best to begin entirely another, by asking, the next time they were standing still, how he liked the officers of his new regiment.
"Very much, most of them," replied Edmund; "one or two are particularly nice people."
"Do you like any as well as Captain Gresham or—"
"New friends are not old ones," quickly answered Edmund.
"O no, but if you knew them as well, are there any equally worthy to be liked? I want you to be comfortable there very much, as it is all our fault."
"Don't say any more of that, Marian. Thank you, I am very comfortable—they are a very pleasant set."
"Are there any of them here?"
"Yes, three of them."
L'Eté cut short his speech, and when they paused again he began, "I mean you to dance with Dashwood—there that rosy tall boy standing partnerless behind the lady in a Swiss fly-away cap."