“Indeed! In what way? I beg, nay, demand, explanation.”
“You shall have it; though superfluous, I should think, after what has been passing—this night especially.”
“Oh! this night especially! I supposed you so much engaged with Miss Powell as not to have noticed anything or anybody else. What was it, pray?”
“You understand, I take it, without need of my entering into particulars.”
“Indeed, I don’t; unless you refer to my dancing with George Shenstone.”
“More than dancing with him—keeping his company all through!”
“Not strange that; seeing I was left so free to keep it! Besides, as I suppose you know, his father was my father’s oldest and most intimate friend.”
She makes this avowal condescendingly, observing he is really vexed, and thinking the game of contraries has gone far enough. He has given her a sight of his cards, and with the quick subtle instinct of woman she sees that among them Miss Powell is no longer chief trump. Were his perception keen as hers, their jealous conflict would now come to a close, and between them confidence and friendship, stronger than ever, be restored.
Unfortunately it is not to be. Still miscomprehending, yet unyielding, he rejoins, sneeringly—
“And I suppose your father’s daughter is determined to continue that intimacy with his fathers son; which might not be so very pleasant to him who should be your husband! Had I thought of that when I placed a ring upon your finger—”