Raby blushed.
“It was a shame no one else thought of it. But, Mr Jeffreys, you are thanking me, when it is I who ought to thank you for risking your life for me.”
“That is a new version of the story,” said Jeffreys. “It was somebody else who risked his life for me, and I know you despise me for appearing so churlish about it.”
“I was very sorry indeed for you in the drawing-room last night.”
“I deserved no sympathy.”
“I fancied you might have gushed a little when you saw how much auntie’s heart and Mrs Scarfe’s were set on it. It would not have hurt you.”
“I cannot gush, Miss Atherton; but I can value your kindness to me, and I do.”
Raby smiled one of her pleasantest smiles.
“I wish I had half your honesty, Mr Jeffreys. I am always pretending to be something here which I am not, and I get sick of it. I wish I were a man.”
“Why? Is honesty confined to the male sex?”