“It is not, then, that you have quarreled with your cousin?”
Clifford reflected a moment, and then with a simplicity which had, for the Baroness, a singularly baffling quality, “Oh, no; we have made up!” he said.
She looked at him for some moments; but Clifford had begun to be afraid of the Baroness’s looks, and he endeavored, now, to shift himself out of their range. “Why do you never come to see me any more?” she asked. “Have I displeased you?”
“Displeased me? Well, I guess not!” said Clifford, with a laugh.
“Why haven’t you come, then?”
“Well, because I am afraid of getting shut up in that back room.”
Eugenia kept looking at him. “I should think you would like that.”
“Like it!” cried Clifford.
“I should, if I were a young man calling upon a charming woman.”
“A charming woman isn’t much use to me when I am shut up in that back room!”