“I am offended because you are making a mock of my concern for your safety,” she replied. “Oh, Dick, if you knew what I suffered, you would not make a mock of me.”
“Believe me, dear lady, ’twas not my intention to say a word in that spirit,” said he. “Nay, I give you my word that, however I may be disposed to regard the remarks made by Mrs. Cholmondeley and the rest of her set in respect of this ridiculous affair, I can only feel touched—yes, deeply touched and honoured—by the concern you showed on my behalf.”
“No, you do not feel touched; you only think of me as a silly old woman,” she cried.
“Nay, you do me a great injustice,” he said. “I was affected by what you said to me on the evening of your arrival; it showed me how good and kind was your heart, and now—well, I can say with truth that my feeling has been increased by the additional evidence you have given me of your—your kind heart.”
“Ah, that is just the limit of your feeling for me!” she said in a low voice—a voice that coaxed one into contradiction—while her eyes, cast downward to the point of her dainty little shoe, coerced one into contradiction.
Most men were quite content to be coaxed, but there were an obstinate few who required coercion.
But she had a point still in reserve. She knew it to be irresistible in an emergency.
Dick yielded to the coaxing of her voice.
“Nay,” he said, “I have not yet expressed all that I feel of regard for you, Mrs. Abington. I shall not make the attempt to do so.”