"All this is very amusing, Maria—but—"
"It is all very true. Then he was pressing, and you were coy, until finally he extorted your definitive answer, which was—" Maria paused, and seemed to be intensely studying the looks of the other—Miss Henley smiled as she turned her placid, ingenuous features to her gaze, and continued the conversation by repeating,
"Which was?"
"No; irretrievable—unanswerable—unalterable no."
"I have not authorized you to suspect any part of this rhapsody to be true—I have not said you were right in a single particular."
"Excuse me, Miss Henley, you have said all, and Seymour Delafield told me the same as we passed each other at the street door."
"Is it possible!"
"It could not be otherwise. His mouth was shut, it is true, and his tongue might have been in his pocket, for any thing I know: but his eyes and his head, his walk, and even his nose were downcast, and spoke mortification. On the other hand, your little body looks an inch higher, your eyes look resolute, as much as to say, 'Avaunt, false one!' your whole appearance is that of determined denial, mingled—"
"Mingled with what, trifler?"
"Mingled with a little secret, woman's pride, that you have had an opportunity of showing your absolute character."