She sighed. “Yes, and he is so clever that I daresay he would guess what I was about. I might, I suppose, remove to Merton, and that would certainly make it awkward for Sir Vincent. But Sancia would not like that at all, I fear.”
“She has my sympathy!”
Sophy looked at him. Under his amazed and horrified gaze, large tears slowly welled over her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks. She did not sniff, or gulp, or even sob; merely she allowed her tears to gather and fall.
“Sophy!” ejaculated Mr. Rivenhall, visibly shaken. He took an involuntary step toward her, checked himself, and said rather disjointedly, “Pray do not! I did not mean — I had no intention — You know how it is with me! I say more than I mean, when — Sophy, for God’s sake do not cry!”
“Oh, do not stop me!” begged Sophy. “Sir Horace says it is my only accomplishment!”
Mr. Rivenhall glared at her. “What?”
“Very few persons are able to do it,” Sophy assured him. “I discovered it by the veriest accident when I was only ten years old. Sir Horace said I should cultivate it, for I should find it most useful.”
‘You — you — ” Words failed Mr. Rivenhall. “Stop at once!”
“Oh, I have stopped!” said Sophy, carefully wiping the drops away. “I cannot continue if I don’t keep sad thoughts in my mind, such as you saying unkind things to me, or — ”
“I do not believe you felt the slightest inclination to cry!” declared Mr. Rivenhall roundly. “You did it only to set me at a disadvantage! You are, without exception, the most abominable, shameless — Don’t start again!”