“False, idle flatterer!” thought Lucia, pulling her bouquet to pieces.
“Those are beautiful flowers, Miss Laurence—what have they done to merit such treatment at your fair hands!” said Mr. Gadsby, glad of the opportunity to say something, for he felt himself completely embarrassed by her repulsive manners. “You treat them with as little favor as you do your admirers, and throw them from you with as little mercy. Fair, beautiful flowers!” he added, gathering up the leaves of a rose from the rich carpet, “fit emblems they are in their fragility of woman’s short-lived faith and truth.”
“A lesson upon faith and truth from Mr. Gadsby is a paradox well worth listening to!” retorted Lucia, with a sarcastic smile.
“Why so—do you then believe me destitute of them?”
“I have never deemed the subject worthy of reflection; yet, if I mistake not, the world does not burthen you with such attributes.”
“And the world is probably right, Miss Laurence,” answered Gadsby, piqued and angry. He arose, and walked several times across the room, then again pausing before her, he said in a softened tone, “And yet, although our acquaintance has been but brief, I trust I have given you no reason to pass such severe censure upon me.”
A quick retort rose to the lips of Lucia, but as she raised her eyes, they met those of Gadsby fixed upon her with an expression such as she could not well define, so strangely were reproach and tenderness blended. She was embarrassed, a deep blush mantled her face, and the words were unspoken.
“She is not, then, utterly heartless—that blush belies it!” thought Gadsby. “Say, Miss Laurence, may I not hope for a more lenient judgment from you than the world accords?” he said, again addressing her.
“What ails me? Why do I tremble thus? Am I really to be the dupe of this deceiver. No! let me be true to myself!” mentally exclaimed Lucia; and then, with a look which instantly chilled the warm impulse in the heart of Gadsby, she said,
“My opinion can be of very little consequence to Mr. Gadsby.”