"Run away?" she rejoined, drawing herself up with a strong show of indignation.
"It's—it's the very first opportunity I've had—the first time alone with you all these days," he answered. "I must insist! I—I beg your pardon, but I must find out, really I must! It seemed to me that—that just now you waved to me, from the window."
"To you? But how could I tell, so far off, that Mr. Blake was not on the train?"
"So that was it?" he replied, suddenly dashed. "Very stupid of me—very! Yet—yet—I must say it! Miss Gantry—Dolores, you've insisted on showing me your deepened dislike even since that evening. But you're so sincere, so candid—if only you'll tell me my faults, I'll do anything I possibly can to please you, to win your regard!"
"Ho! so that's it?" she jeered. "Because Vievie threw you over, you think I'll do as second choice—you think I'm waiting to catch you on the rebound."
"You?" he exclaimed. "How could that be? You've always been so frank in showing your dislike for me—how could I think that? But if only I might convince you how desirous I am to—to overcome your antipathy!"
"Lord Avondale," she said, "it is probable that you are laboring under a misconception. I am not an heiress; I am not wealthy. We are barely well-to-do. So, you see—"
"Ah, yes! And you—" he exclaimed, stepping nearer to her—"you, then, shall see that it is yourself alone! If I can but win you! Tell me, now—why is it you dislike me? I'll do anything in my power. Forget I'm my father's son—that I'm English. I must win you! Tell me how I can overcome your dislike!"
Dolores drew back, blushing first scarlet then crimson with blissful confusion. All her ready wit fled from her and left her quivering with the sweet agitation of her love.
"But it's—it's not true, Jimmy!" she whispered. "I don't—I'm not what you think me! I'm not sincere or honest—I'm just a liar! I've been pretending all along. It's not true that I ever disliked you!"