"Nonsense!" says Miss Kavanagh, irreverently.
"As you will!" says he, meekly. "But I assure you he is not here."
"I could have told you that," says she, coloring, however, very warmly. "I must say, Dicky, you are the most ingeniously stupid person I ever met in my life."
"To shine in even the smallest line in life is to achieve something," says Mr. Browne, complacently. "And so you knew he wouldn't be here just now?"
This is uttered in an insinuating tone. Miss Kavanagh feels she has made a false move. To give Dicky an inch is, indeed, to give him an ell.
"He? Who?" says she, weakly.
"Don't descend to dissimulation, Jocelyne," advises he, severely. "It's the surest road to ruin, if one is to believe the good old copy books. By he—you see I scorn subterfuge—I mean Dysart, the person to whom in a mistaken moment you have affianced yourself, as though I—I were not ready at any time to espouse you."
"I'm not going to be espoused," says Miss Kavanagh, half laughing.
"No? I quite understood——"
"I won't have that word," petulantly. "It sounds like something out of the dark ages."