"I will come whenever you ask me," he said, quite simply.
"No. You know I would never ask you again, if I could help it. Oh, you were so kind, but it—" I stopped. I did not know how to say what I meant. I had better not have said so much.
"I don't want you to have that feeling. It amuses me to come, Comtesse, only you feed one too well. Do you remember how I drank everything I could get hold of, to please you?"
"You were ridiculous!" And I laughed.
"I thought I was heroic." Then, in another voice: "I think you must have that boudoir altered a little, you know, before long. I can't say I found your sofa comfortable."
"Not like this." And I lay back luxuriously.
"I generally choose things with a reason, if I can."
"That sounds like one of grandmamma's speeches." Then I stupidly blushed, remembering, apropos of what she had said, almost the same thing. It was when she accepted Mrs. Gurrage's invitation to the ball, where she calculated I should meet Antony. That was before she had the fainting-fit. I stared into the fire. What would have happened by now, if she could have carried out that plan—the "suitable and happy" arrangement of my future!
"Comtesse, why do you stop suddenly and blush, and then stare into the fire? Your grandmother was not, I am sure, in the habit of saying such startling things as to cause you such emotions."
I looked up at him. I suppose my eyes were troubled, for he said, so gently: