“If I may so express it, it is humanely impertinent. I know no other woman to whom I should hesitate to propound it at once, for it is a question. But I have been scathed by you before this, and I am not absolutely foolhardy.”
“Oh, go ahead,” said Charlotte. “Impertinence acknowledged is impertinence disarmed. Besides, I may owe you some amends. I could never see how I did it, but my husband says I used to snap your head off every time you spoke.”
“You did, you did, indeed.” This was said with fervor.
“Well, I promise not to snap this time.”
“Don’t you find it more comfortable, then—being degenerate, I mean?”
For an instant Mrs. Collingwood stared at him, and he broke into a peal of laughter in which she presently joined.
“Indeed, I must be a formidable person if you were afraid to ask that,” she said. “Well, then, I do. Does my answer content you?”
“Unspeakably. You know we all enjoy being degenerate, but I never hoped to hear you admit it.”
At this instant, Mrs. Collingwood’s attention was diverted by the servant, who came back with a tray of cutlery. She indicated several places at which plates and silver were to be laid, but found time for an abstracted smile at her guest, who stood waiting her pleasure while she gave her directions.
“I daresay—” she returned briskly to the subject after this lapse of time—“I was very priggish. Martin has humanized me—there is no doubt of it—and I am grateful to him. He is so humorously practical. How do you think he is looking?”