In the semidarkness she could see the amusement in his eyes. Her own feeling, in its mingled weakness and antagonism, was that of the feebler wrestler just holding his ground, and fearing every moment to be worsted by some unexpected trick of the game. She gave no signs of it, however.
“I tried, and I succeeded!” she said, as she rose. “You found out that rudeness to my friends didn’t answer! Shall we go and get some lemonade? Wasn’t that why you brought me here? I think I see the tent.”
They walked on together. She seemed to see—exultantly—that she had both angered and excited him.
“I am never rude,” he declared. “I am only honest! Only nobody, in this mealy-mouthed world, allows you to be honest; to say and do exactly what represents you. But I shall not be rude to anybody under your wing. Promise me to come to tea, and I will appear to call on your aunt and behave like any sucking dove.”
Constance considered it.
“Lady Laura must write to Aunt Ellen.”
“Of course. Any other commands?”
“Not at present.”
“Then let me offer some humble counsels in return. I beg you not to make friends with that red-haired poseur I saw you talking to in the hall.”
“Mr. Radowitz!—the musician? I thought him delightful! He is coming to play to me to-morrow.”