“And then you proceeded to drag things from him. I believe that was your phrase,” remarked David, in a severe tone. The sensation of having this proud and insolent beauty in a tremor of entreaty before him was very delightful.
“Naturally, I asked him questions,” she replied, with a little more spirit. “Earls don’t grow on every bush with us. And for that matter, why, goodness me! he did nothing but praise you from morning till night. By his account, one would think butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. He made you out a regular saint. I was quite prepared to see you with a halo round your head—and instead, I——”
She stopped short, with a confused and deprecatory smile. David, noting it, rejoiced that he had taken a peremptory tone about the garrulous Linkhaw.
“Instead, you discovered that I was a mere flesh and blood mortal like the rest.” He permitted himself to unbend, and even to smile a little, as he furnished this conclusion to her sentence. “Was it a very painful disillusionment?”
“Oh, I’ve read and heard enough about the lives that your class lead here in Europe,” she replied, with a marked reversion toward her former manner. “I don’t pretend that I was really surprised.”
David assumed a judicial expression. “Considering the way we are brought up, and the temptations that are thrust upon us,” he said, impartially, “I would not say that we are so much worse than other men.”
“But you are pretty bad—that you must admit.”
Before David had satisfactorily framed the admission expected of him, the sound of an opening door and of footsteps came from within.
“It is papa,” whispered the girl, leaning forward in a confidential manner. “I’m going to tell him.”
“I see no valid objection,” answered David, with dignity.