'I was trying to see whether I could not regard it in the light of a compliment,' continues he audaciously.
'That would not be easy,' replies she drily.
'It was something that you should have thought me worth wasting your powder and shot upon,' he answers.
Certainly her profile is anything but perfect; her chin projects too much. In her old age, if she had a hook nose (which she has not), she would be a mere nut-cracker.
Shall he tell her that? How many disagreeable things he might tell her! It puts him into quite a good humour with her to think of them.
'Now, about that badger, for instance,' says he.
But at that, against her will, she laughs outright.
'Dear little beast!' she cries maliciously; 'so playful and affectionate! such a pet!'
She has laughed. That is something gained, at all events. It is not a nice friendly laugh. On the contrary, it is a very rude, ill-natured one: she is obviously a rude, ill-natured girl; but it is a laugh.
'You can see for yourself,' pursues he, holding out one of the menus for her inspection, 'that we are only at the first entrée; we shall have to sit beside each other for a good hour more. Lady Roupell does not want to talk to me; and your neighbour—I do not know who he is, and I will not ask you, because I know you would not answer me civilly—but whoever he is, he will not talk to you. I saw you try to make him, and he would not; he snubbed you. I was avenged! I was very glad!'