"I am afraid I am not in such favor as you imagine," he said, looking slightly annoyed.
"Well, I think she won't refuse you this thing," she went on. "If she didn't loathe me so, I would ask her myself."
He deigned to smile.
"Does she loathe you?" he inquired.
"Yes," nodding. "She would not speak to me if it weren't for aunt Belinda. She thinks I am fast and loud. Do you think I am fast and loud?"
He was taken aback, and not for the first time, either. She had startled and discomposed him several times in the course of their brief acquaintance; and he always resented it, priding himself in private, as he did, upon his coolness and immobility. He could not think of the right thing to say just now, so he was silent for a second.
"Tell me the truth," she persisted. "I shall not care—much."
"I do not think you would care at all."
"Well, perhaps I shouldn't. Go on. Do you think I am fast?"
"I am happy to say I do not find you slow."