He shrank from uttering the words that loaded his tongue—the longed for declaration his attentions had given Bella an undoubted right to expect—and she resented because she misunderstood the reason of his not doing so. She dreaded that he had taught her to love him, while looking down upon her position in the world—at least, the world in which he and his mother moved.
'Do you know that all our fellows from the camp, and indeed all my mother's guests, are quite wild in their admiration of you!' he said, in a low voice.
'How kind—how excessively condescending of them?' exclaimed Bella, sharply, opening and shutting her fan again and again.
He regarded her with a little perplexity, and felt his cheek colour.
'And Lady Wilmot—does she share in that gust of admiration?' she asked, with an unmistakable curl on her lovely lip.
'Bella—oh, permit me to call you so, as of old? What has come to you—what has offended you?'
'Nothing has come to me—nothing has offended me; but I should not have come here to-night, and you have no right to call me Bella now!'
'I beg your pardon—the name came naturally to my lips—we were such good friends of old.'
'Your mother does not view us as such. Her friendship consists of loftily patronising me, while looking down upon me and my father too. You know this as well as I do, Captain Wilmot.'
Jerry was silent, and thought.