"Heaven knows that it is bitter enough to do so. Have I cause, Ellen?"
Her eyes were bent down: the colour stole into her face again; a half-smile parted her lips.
"You know, Ellen, it is perfectly monstrous that a common man like Seeley should dare to cast his aspiring thoughts to you."
"Was it my fault?" she returned. "He ought to have seen that--that--I should not like it."
"What did you tell him?"
"That it was quite impossible; that he was making a mistake altogether. When he was gone, I complained to Mrs. Cumberland."
"Insolent jackanapes! Was he rude, Ellen?"
"Rude! Mr. Seeley!" she returned in surprise. "Quite the contrary. He has always been as considerate and deferential as a man can be. You look down on his position, Arthur, but he is as great a gentleman in mind as you are."
"I only despise his position when he would seek to unite you to it."
"It has been very wrong of you to make me confess this. I can tell you I am feeling anything but 'honourable,' as you put it just now. There are things that should never be talked about; this is one of them. Nothing can be more unfair."