‘Should you like her to?’ asks she at last.
‘To look at me?’ Crosby is now openly amused. ‘A cat may look at a king, you know.’
‘Oh, but she——’
‘Is not the cat? That’s rude, any way. Susan, I take back all the handsome things I said of you just now. So I’m the cat, and she is the queen, I suppose. Well, no; I don’t want Queen Muriel to look at me. It would be rather embarrassing, considering all things. She is a very high and mighty young lady, you know, and I’m terribly shy. On the whole, Susan’—he pauses, and studies her a minute—‘I should prefer you to look at me.’
His studying goes for naught; not a vestige of blush appears on Susan’s face or any emotion whatever. His little flattery has gone by her.
‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ says she.
‘Do I? You are often very deep, you know; but if you mean that perhaps I should like to marry Lady Muriel—well, I shouldn’t.’
‘How strange!’ says Susan. ‘I think if I were a man I should be dreadfully in love with her.’
Crosby laughs.
‘So you think you could be dreadfully in love?’ says he.