“Have you seen dear Mr Arm— O Rosalind! how can you dance with that man?”
Mr Ratman laughed.
“Very well, missy. I’ll pay you out. You shall dance with me, see if you don’t, before the evening is out.”
Before which awful threat Jill fled headlong to seek the tutor.
“Fact is,” pursued Mr Ratman, reverting to his previous topic, “ever since I saw you, Miss Rosalind, I said to myself—Robert Ratman, you have found the right article at last. You don’t suppose I’d come all the way here from India, do you, if there weren’t attractions?”
She kept a rigid silence, and went through the steps of the quadrille without so much as a look at the talker, Ratman was sober enough to be annoyed at this chilly disdain.
“Don’t you know it’s rude not to speak when you’re spoken to, Miss Rosalind?” said he. “If you choose to be friends with me we shall get on very well, but you mustn’t be rude.”
She turned her head away.
“You aren’t deaf, are you?” said he, becoming still more nettled. “I suppose if it was the heir of Maxfield that was talking to you you’d hear, wouldn’t you? You’d be all smiles and nods to the owner of ten thousand a year, eh? Do you suppose we can’t see through your little game, you artful little schemer? Now, will you speak or not?”
Her cheeks gave the only indication that she had heard this last polished speech as she gathered up her dress and swept out of the quadrille.