“Ah! I can tell you, my friend Jean, if you liked, you might dream a very delicious dream.”
Jean was annoyed, almost angry. Paul was much astonished at this sudden attack of irritability.
“What is the matter? Have I said anything—”
“I beg your pardon; I was wrong. But how could you take such an absurd idea into your head?”
“Absurd! I don’t see it. I have entertained the absurd idea on my own account.”
“Ah! you—”
“Why ‘Ah! you?’ If I have had it you may have it; you are better worth it than I am.”
“Paul, I entreat you!”
Jean’s discomfort was evident.
“We will not speak of it again; we will not speak of it again. What I wanted to say, in short, is that Miss Percival perhaps thinks I am agreeable; but as to considering me seriously, that little person will never commit such a folly. I must fall back upon Mrs. Scott, but without much confidence. You see, Jean, I shall amuse myself in this house, but I shall make nothing out of it.”