“Certainly—when you have recovered from your sulks.”
“I am not in the sulks,” she said tartly. “Anyone with the least sensibility would feel for me in this pass you “have brought me to! How can you expect me to be in spirits? You have no sensibility at all, my lord!”
“No, I am afraid that is so,” he replied seriously. “It is an accusation which has often been cast at me, and I believe it to be true.”
She turned her head to look at him in some little curiosity. “Pray, who has accused you of it, sir?” she asked suspiciously.
“My sisters, when I have been unable to enter into their feelings upon-certain events.”
“I am surprised. I had collected that your brothers and sisters were all devoted to you.”
He smiled. “You would wish me to understand, I dare say, that the strong degree of attachment which exists between us has aggravated a naturally overbearing disposition.”
She was obliged to laugh. “I must tell you, my lord, that I find this habit you have got into of reducing to the most uncompromising terms what has been expressed with the utmost delicacy quite odious! What is more, I am much disposed to think that if I had the toothache, and told you I was dying of the pain, you would be at pains to announce to me that one does not die of the toothache!”
“Undoubtedly I should,” he agreed, “if I thought you entertained any fears on that score.”
“Odious!” she said.