He began to fear that, if he did not soon speak, his voice would be beyond recovery. So, with a desperate resolve to recover his self-possession at a single coup, he blurted out, bunglingly:
“’Tis the first time I have seen you in that gown, madam.”
Elizabeth, not ceasing to let her fingers ramble with soft touch over the keyboard, replied, carelessly:
“I have not worn it in some time.”
Having found that he retained the power of speech, he proceeded to utter frankly his latest thought, concealing the slight bitterness of it with a pretence of playful, make-believe reproach:
“’Tis not flattering to me, that you never wore it 219 while I was your guest, yet put it on the moment you thought I had departed.”
She answered with good-humored lightness, “Why, sir, do you complain of not being flattered? I thought such complaints were made only by women, and only to their own hearts.”
“If by flattery,” said he, “you mean merited compliment, there are women who can never have occasion to complain of not receiving it.”
“Indeed? When was that discovery made?”
“A minute ago, madam.”