"Oh, you are about to address me officially—well, sir?"
"Can it be possible, Flora, that you still love this unknown protégé of my foolish mother—this nameless rascal, who has run away, heaven knows where? By-the-bye, I wonder if Spillsby has overhauled the plate chest since he went!"
Flora was silent, but his brusquerie and categorical manner offended her, and filled her eyes with tears.
"This weeping is enough," continued the exasperated Cosmo, who, though he had no great regard for Flora, felt his self-esteem—which was not small—most fearfully wounded; "you do love him."
"And what if I do?" she asked, very quietly, but withal rather defiantly.
"Very fine, Miss Warrender—very fine, 'pon my soul! That old jade, Anne Radcliffe, with her 'Romance of the Forest,' her 'Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne,' and this new Edinburgh fellow, Scott, with his 'Marmion,' and so forth, have perfected your education. Your teaching has been most creditable!"
"This taunting manner is not so to you,' replied Flora, resuming her inspection of the book of prints.
"Oho! we are in a passion again it seems?"
"Far from it, sir—I never was more cool in my life," said she, looking up with a wicked but glorious smile.
"And where has this runaway gone? His friends in the servants' hall heard something of him last night or this morning, if I may judge from the pot-house row they made."