It was Dora Grayling who was coming,—I went off with her without a word,—we were half-way through the dance before she spoke to me.
‘I am sorry that I was cross to you just now, and—disagreeable. Somehow I always seem destined to show to you my most unpleasant side.’
‘The blame was mine,—what sort of side do I show you? You are far kinder to me than I deserve,—now, and always.’
‘That is what you say.’
‘Pardon me, it’s true,—else how comes it that, at this time of day, I’m without a friend in all the world?’
‘You!—without a friend!—I never knew a man who had so many!—I never knew a person of whom so many men and women join in speaking well!’
‘Miss Grayling!’
‘As for never having done anything worth doing, think of what you have done. Think of your discoveries, think of your inventions, think of—but never mind! The world knows you have done great things, and it confidently looks to you to do still greater. You talk of being friendless, and yet when I ask, as a favour—as a great favour!—to be allowed to do something to show my friendship, you—well, you snub me.’
‘I snub you!’
‘You know you snubbed me.’