“Oh, no, you are not!” said I, shaking my head. “You say so only because it amuses you to see how much you can make me believe of the things you tell me.”
“Do you judge all the people you know as severely as you do me, Miss Christie?”
“Yes, quite,” said I gravely.
“Oh—er—the gentleman who gave you the red rose, for instance?”
He said this in a mock-bashful tone, looking at the carpet, as if ashamed to meet my eyes. I could not help getting red, and I think he knew it without looking up.
“Or—or perhaps he—never does anything wrong?”
“Oh, yes, he does, Mr. Carruthers!” said I, with a bright idea in my head—he had been laughing at me long enough, I thought. “He did very wrong in thinking he need be jealous of any of the gentlemen I met at Denham Court.”
Mr. Carruthers raised his head and looked straight at me. I am not sure that he was not a little annoyed as well as amused, though he laughed very good-temperedly.
“I will never make love to you any more, you ungrateful girl!” said he.
“Make love! Do you call that making love?” said I, laughing.