Dahlia signified vehemently, "No."
"Then, I've guessed right; he turns out not to be a gentleman—eh, Dahly? Go on noddin', if ye like. Never mind the shop people; we're well-conducted, and that's all they care for. I say, Dahly, he ain't a gentleman? You speak out or nod your head. You thought you'd caught a gentleman and 'taint the case. Gentlemen ain't caught so easy. They all of 'em goes to school, and that makes 'em knowin'. Come; he ain't a gentleman?"
Dahlia's voice issued, from a terrible inward conflict, like a voice of the tombs. "No," she said.
"Then, will you show him to me? Let me have a look at him."
Pushed from misery to misery, she struggled within herself again, and again in the same hollow manner said, "Yes."
"You will?"
"Yes."
"Seein's believin'. If you'll show him to me, or me to him…"
"Oh! don't talk of it." Dahlia struck her fingers in a tight lock.
"I only want to set eye on him, my gal. Whereabouts does he live?"