"He said he was coming again to-morrow," with apparent disgust.
"To get your answer?"
"Oh, I suppose so! I don't know, I'm sure," with such a sharp gesture as proves to Margaret her patience has come to an end. "Let us forget it—put it from us—while we can." She laughs nervously. "You see what a temper I have! He will repent his bargain, I think—if I do consent. Come, let us talk of something else, Meg—of you."
"Of me?"
"What better subject? Tell me what Colonel Neilson was saying to you in that window this evening," pointing to the one farthest off.
"Nothing—nothing at all. He is so stupid," says Margaret, blushing crimson. "He really never sees me without proposing all over again, as if there was any good in it."
"And what did you say this time?"
Margaret grows confused.
"Really, dearest, I was so taken up thinking of you and Maurice," says she, with a first (and most flagrant) attempt at dissimulation, "that I believe I forgot to—to—say anything."
Tita gives way to a burst of irrepressible laughter.