“Why should they? One can’t exactly intrench oneself behind a wall with pistols and say ‘Be my friend if you dare.’ Life would be very uncomfortable, I should think.”
“Oh, you know what I mean! Don’t be so awfully literal.”
“I was trying to understand,” said Johnstone, with unusual meekness. “I won’t, if you don’t want me to. But I don’t agree with you a bit. I think it’s very jolly to be intimate—in this sort of way—or perhaps a little more so.”
“Intimate enemies? Enemies can be just as intimate as friends, you know.”
“I’d rather have you for my intimate enemy than not know you at all,” said Brook.
“That’s saying a great deal, Mr. Johnstone.”
Again she was pleased in a new way by what he said. And a temptation came upon her unawares. It was perfectly clear that he was beginning to make love to her. She thought of her reflections after she had seen him alone with Lady Fan, and of how she had wished that she could break his heart, and pay him back with suffering for the pain he had given another woman. The possibility seemed nearer now than then. At least, she could easily let him believe that she believed him, and then laugh at him and his acting. For of course it was acting. How could such a man be earnest? All at once the thought that he should respect her so little as to pretend to make love to her incensed her.
“What an extraordinary idea!” she exclaimed rather scornfully. “You would rather be hated, than not known!”
“I wasn’t talking generalities—I was speaking of you. Please don’t misunderstand me on purpose. It isn’t kind.”
“Are you in need of kindness just now? You don’t exactly strike one in that way, you know. But your people will be coming in a day or two, I suppose. I’ve no doubt they’ll be kind to you, as you call it—whatever that may mean. One speaks of being kind to animals and servants, you know—that sort of thing.”