This was almost enough to bring back the very same supercilious Distance of which he complained; but, in dread of fresh explanations, I forbore to notice this flight, and only told him he might be perfectly satisfied, since I no longer Persevered in the taciturnity to which he objected.
“But how,” cried he, “do you give up, without deigning to assign one reason for It”?
“The greater the compliment!” cried I, laughing; “I give up to your request.”
“Yes, ma’am, upon my speaking,-but why did you keep Me so long in that painful suspense?" “Nay,” cried I, “could I well be quicker? Till you spoke could I know if you heeded it?”
“Ah, ma’am—is there no language but of words? Do you pretend to think there is no other?—Must I teach it you?—teach it to Miss Burney who speaks, who understands it so well?—who is never silent, and never can be silent?”
And then came his heroic old homage to the poor eyebrows vehemently finishing with, “Do you, can you affect to know no language but speech?”
“Not,” cried I, coolly, “without the trouble of more investigation than I had taken here.”
He called this “contempt,” and, exceedingly irritated, de sired me, once more, to explain, from beginning to end, how he had ever offended me.
“Mr. Turbulent,” cried I, “will you be satisfied if I tell you it shall all blow over?”
“Make me a vow, then, you will never more, never while you live, resume that proud taciturnity.”