He waited for her to speak. But she was silent. Anger, humiliation and wounded pride, mingled with a certain struggling respect and admiration for his boldness, held her mute. She little knew how provocatively lovely she looked as she stood haughtily immovable, her eyes alone flashing eloquent rebellion;—she little guessed that John committed the picture of her fairness to the innermost recording cells of his brain, there to be stored up preciously, and never forgotten.
"I am sorry,"—he resumed—"that I spoke as I did just now at your table—because you are angry with me. But I cannot say that I am sorry for any other reason—"
At this Maryllia found her voice suddenly.
"You have insulted my guests—-"
"Ah, no!" said John, almost with a smile—"Women who are habitual smokers are not easily insulted! They are past that, believe me! The fine susceptibilities which one might otherwise attribute to them have been long ago blunted. They do not command respect, and naturally, they can scarcely expect to receive it."
"I do not agree with you!" retorted Maryllia, with rising warmth, as she regained her self-control, and with it her deep sense of irritation—"You were rude,—and rudeness is unpardonable! You said as much as to imply that none of the women present were ladies—-"
"None of those who smoked were!"—said John, coolly.
"Mr. Walden! I myself, smoked!"
"You did,"—and he moved a step or two nearer to her, his whole face lighting up with keen emotion—"And why did you? The motive was intended to be courteous—but the principle was wrong!"
"Wrong!" she echoed, angrily—"Wrong?"