Presently Hans said, again speaking low, and without turning, “Excuse the question, but does Mrs. Grandcourt know of all this?”
“No; and I must beg of you, Hans,” said Deronda, rather angrily, “to cease joking on that subject. Any notions you have are wide of the truth—are the very reverse of the truth.”
“I am no more inclined to joke than I shall be at my own funeral,” said Hans. “But I am not at all sure that you are aware what are my notions on that subject.”
“Perhaps not,” said Deronda. “But let me say, once for all, that in relation to Mrs. Grandcourt, I never have had, and never shall have the position of a lover. If you have ever seriously put that interpretation on anything you have observed, you are supremely mistaken.”
There was silence a little while, and to each the silence was like an irritating air, exaggerating discomfort.
“Perhaps I have been mistaken in another interpretation, also,” said Hans, presently.
“What is that?”
“That you had no wish to hold the position of a lover toward another woman, who is neither wife nor widow.”
“I can’t pretend not to understand you, Meyrick. It is painful that our wishes should clash. I hope you will tell me if you have any ground for supposing that you would succeed.”
“That seems rather a superfluous inquiry on your part, Deronda,” said Hans, with some irritation.