He didn't in the least want to know Mrs. Eliott, he didn't think that he would like her. But he was soothed, flattered, insanely pleased with Anne's assumption that he would. It was as if in her thoughts she were drawing him towards her. He felt that she was softening, yielding. His approaches were a delicious wooing of an unfamiliar, unwedded Anne.
"I would like her, because you like her, is that it?"
"It wouldn't follow."
"Oh, how you spoil it!"
"Spoil what?"
"My inference. It pleased me. But, as you say, the logic wasn't sound."
Silence being the only dignified course under mystification, Anne was silent. Some men had that irritating way with women; Walter's smile suggested that he might have it. She was not going to minister to his male delight. Unfortunately her silence seemed to please him too.
"Never mind, dear, I do like her; because she likes you."
"You will like her for herself when you know her."
"Will she like me for myself when she knows me? It's extremely doubtful. You see, hitherto she has made no ardent sign."