Sometimes she went further than this, and would test his veracity a little unwarrantably, in her inordinate vanity, and with ineffably bad taste.
"Tell me, dearest Greville," she said, hanging over him, and caressing him with great empressement, "did you ever love before as you love me now?"
He smoked his old briar-root, but made no reply.
"Tell me—tell me," she persisted, while playfully pulling his ear; but his heart felt a pang, and his eye wandered involuntarily to where poor Mary's portrait used to hang.
"Why so inquisitive?" said he; "you know that I was married before. Do you think I am so vile as to marry without loving?"
"That is no answer. But were you ever so much in love as you are now?"
Wishing to evade the inquiry, he smoked rather doggedly on; so she questioned him again.
"Some fellows are in love a score of times, with every pretty girl they meet, in fact," said he.
"But you, Greville, are not one of those men."
"No, Anne, most certainly not."