This was coming to the point with a vengeance!
Instead of being mightily flattered or overcome, as he not unnaturally expected, Flora, without withdrawing her hand, as if its retention mattered little, turned half round, and said, with a quiet, cairn smile:
"Remember how little I have known you, sir, save through your parents, my guardians."
"True; the duties of honour at Court, and—ah, ah!—my profession, Flora, called me elsewhere; but you don't refuse me, eh? My dear girl—the deuce!—you surely can't mean that?"
Flora grew pale and hesitated, for with all her love for Lady Rohallion, she had a kind of awe of her, and Cosmo was eyeing her coldly and steadily through his glass.
"Nay, speak, Flora," said he, with, perhaps, more irritation than tenderness in his tone. "I have, perhaps, not much personally to recommend me to a young girl's eye, and this wound, which I got at the Helder, when assisting to compel those Dutch devils to hoist the colours of the Prince of Orange—a sabre-cut across the face—has not improved me; but speak out, Flora Warrender; notwithstanding the ties between us, you refuse me?"
"This proposal possesses all the abruptness of a scene in a drama."
"Well, what is life but an absurd drama? 'All the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players.'"
"Well, I am not inclined to play the part you wish."
"You refuse me?" he reiterated, his eyes the while assuming their wicked and louring expression.