“Absent! oh, as ever!” said Lady Cecilia, going on with her note, “the most absent man alive.”
“Too much of that sort of thing I think there is in Doctor V———-,” pursued Churchill: “a touch of absence of mind, giving the idea of high abstraction, becomes a learned man well enough; but then it should only be slight, as a soupçon of rouge, which may become a pretty woman; all depends on the measure, the taste, with which these things are managed—put on.”
“There is nothing managed, nothing put on in Doctor V———,” cried Helen, eagerly, her colour rising; “it is all perfectly sincere, true in him, whatever it be.”
Beauclerc put down his book.
“All perfectly true! You really think so, Miss Stanley?” said Churchill, smiling, and looking superior down.
“I do, indeed,” cried Helen.
“Charming—so young! How I do love that freshness of mind!”
“Impertinent fellow! I could knock him down, felt Beauclerc.
“And you think all Doctor V———‘s humility true?” said Churchill. “Yes, perfectly!” said Helen; “but I do not wonder you are surprised at it, Mr. Churchill.”
She meant no malice, though for a moment he thought she did; and he winced under Beauclerc’s smile.