"I remember it perfectly," she sobbed. "You were talking to a fat woman in a hideous yellow gown. Why do you say I don't?"
"Remember what?" he asked innocently, not being quite conversant with a manœuvre much practised by ladies in difficulties, and similar to that resource which is termed in the prize-ring "sparring for wind."
"Why, the first time I met you," she answered. "You're not the only person who has a memory and feelings and all that. I know you must think me a brute, and so I am; but still, I'm not quite a woman of stone!"
"I have told you what I think of you," said he very quietly. "Now tell me what I can do for you, and him."
"Do you mean," she asked, peeping slyly out of her little useless handkerchief, "that you would actually give me up to somebody else, and part with your money, which is always a criterion of sincerity, for such an object? Mr. Goldthred, is that what you call love?"
"I only want you to be happy," said he. "I don't understand much about love and flirtation; and these things people make such a talk about. I want to see you happy. No, not that; for I should avoid seeing you, at least just at first; but I should like to know you were happy, and that it was my doing."
He turned, and leaned his elbows on the chimney-piece, not to look in the glass; for his face was buried in his hands, so that she had some difficulty in attracting his attention. It was not a romantic action; but she gave a gentle pull at his coat-tails.
"You can make me happy," she whispered, with a deep and very becoming blush. "I don't think it will be at all inconvenient or unpleasant to you, only—only—you know I can't exactly suggest it first."
He turned as if he was shot. With white face and parted lips, never man looked more astonished, while he gasped out,
"And you wouldn't marry Sir Henry Hallaton?"