He greeted Hermia with delight, quickly responding to the charm of her juvenility.
"I was wondering if I would see you again," he said genuinely.
"You see," she laughed, "I don't always pop in feet first." She sat and examined him curiously, and then, after a pause.
"What a fraud you are, Mr. Markham!"
"I?"
"A deep-dyed hypocrite—I can't see how you can dare look me in the face—"
"But I can—and I find it very pleasant."
"Oh—shame! To take advantage of my childish credulity—my trusting innocence. You make me believe you to be a fossilized pedant—a philosopher prematurely aged—willing to barter your hope of salvation for a draught of the Fountain of Youth—and I find you making love to my chaperon and most distinguished woman guest! And I was actually offering to teach you! Aren't you a little ashamed of yourself?"
"No, I think not," he said slowly. "You know Madame Tcherny is a very old friend of mine."
"So she is of mine. She's a perfectly adorable chaperon—but then there are limits even to the indiscretions of a chaperon."