‘Isn’t it better?’ said Tarrant, drawing slightly nearer to her.
‘Of course it is.’
‘I used to know thousands of verses by heart.’
‘Did you ever write any?’
‘Half-a-dozen epics or so, when I was about seventeen. Yet, I don’t come of a poetical family. My father—’
He stopped abruptly, looked into Nancy’s face with a smile, and said in a tone of playfulness:
‘Do you remember asking me whether I had anything to do with—’
Nancy, flushing over all her features, exclaimed, ‘Don’t! please don’t! I’m ashamed of myself!’
‘I didn’t like it. But we know each other better now. You were quite right. That was how my grandfather made his money. My father, I believe, got through most of it, and gave no particular thought to me. His mother—the old lady whom you know—had plenty of her own—to be mine, she tells me, some day. Do you wish to be forgiven for hurting my pride?’ he added.
‘I don’t know what made me say such a thing—’