"Oh, I thought you meant with you, sir."
I affected to smile, but my heart thumped my ribs.
"I have not pretended to your heart, Penelope."
"No, sir. Nor I to yours. And, for the matter, know nothing concerning hearts and the deeper pretensions to secret passions of which one hears so much in gossip and romance. No, sir; I am ignorant. Yet, I have thought that kindness might please a woman more easily than sighs and vapours.... Or so it seems to me.... And that impatient ardour only perplexes.... And passion often chills the natural pity that a woman entertains for any man who vows he is unhappy and must presently perish of her indifference....
"Yet I am not indifferent to men.... And have used men gently.... And forgiven them.... Being not hard but pitiful by disposition."
She made a movement of unconscious grace and drew from her bosom the little picture of Steve Watts.
"You see," said she, "I guard it tenderly. But he went off in a passion and rebuked me bitterly for my coquetry and because I refused to flee with him to Canada.... He, being an enemy to liberty, I would not consent.... I love my country.... And better than I love any man."
"He begged an elopement that night?"
"Yes."
"With marriage promised, doubtless."