"I can hardly say I came to inform you of your cousin's movements," replies he, haughtily; "rather to ask you if you will accept my aid to get down-stairs?"
"Yours!"
"Even mine."
"No, thank you," with slow surprise, as though she yet doubts the fact of his having again dared to offer his services: "I would not trouble you for worlds!"
"The trouble is slight," he answers, with an expressive glance at the fragile figure below him.
"But yet a trouble! Do not distress yourself, Sir Guy: Parkins will help me, if you will be so kind as to desire him."
"Your nurse"—hastily—"would be able, I dare say."
"Oh, no. I can't bear trusting myself to women. I am an arrant coward. I always think they are going to trip, or let me drop, at every corner."
"Then why refuse my aid?" he says, even at the price of his self-respect.
"No; I prefer Parkins!"