As they left the room Aldean stepped forward to open the door. "Hope I haven't been rude, Mrs. Purcell!"
"Rude? Certainly not, Lord Aldean; but it must be confessed that you are sadly ignorant. Your style of conversation is neither elegant nor well considered."
Jim returned to the fire and Tui, unabashed. He was bent on proposing; and Tui, by some peculiar instinct, purely feminine, knew it. What is more, she intended to let him have his say. Lately it had dawned upon her that it was possible to play her fish too long. He might sulk away from the hook; and she had no intention of allowing that to happen. So she sat, and looked at the fire, and Jim sat and looked at her; while the hearts of both beat a lively rataplan, utterly incommensurate with so tranquil an occupation.
"I say!" began Jim, gracefully. "You don't think Mrs. Purcell's on her hind legs? Do you?"
"Oh no!" responded Tui, still confining her interest to the fire. "Women never get on their--I mean, never lose their tempers."
"Don't they?" said Aldean (this as a simple interrogation, not an assertion).
"Of course not. I am a woman; I ought to know. How silly you are."
"I'm unideaed! Mrs. Purcell says so."
"She made the same remark about me. She stole the word, you know, from Boswell, who got it from Johnson. It seems we are both of us"--Tui sighed--"'unideaed.'"
"It's a kind of bond between us, isn't it?"