"But, seriously, you look so perfectly wretched, your features have so sensibly altered, that I am quite flattered at it. It is a poor triumph, but you are the only one here."
"To hear that, and me consume in impotent rage!"
"Have you really any understanding? Why, I never said anything more tender."
"Jeer at me,—jeer at me!"
"I do not jeer. I never before saw a man of your age in love after your fashion; and, I must confess, a young and handsome man would be incapable of these outrageous passions. An Adonis admires himself as much as he admires us; he likes us, and we choose to notice him,—nothing more simple. He has a claim to our love, but is hardly grateful; but to show favour to a man like you, my master dear, would be to take him from earth to heaven, to fulfil his wildest dreams, his most insensate hopes. For if some being were to say to you, 'You love Cecily to distraction, if I chose she should be yours next minute,' you would suppose such a being endued with supernatural power, shouldn't you, master dear?"
"Yes! Ah, yes!"
"Well, if you could convince me more satisfactorily of your passion, I might, perchance, have the whimsical fancy to enact this supernatural part myself in your favour. Do you comprehend?"
"I comprehend that you are still fooling me,—that you are still pitiless."
"Perhaps,—for solitude creates so many singular fancies."
Until this moment Cecily's accent had been sarcastic, but she pronounced these last words with a serious, reflecting tone, and accompanied them with a look which made the notary start.