He says this in such a flattering way, implying that to talk with her is the one great delight for him, that her girl’s sense of pleasing and being pleased is quickened, but she only toys with the tassel of the curtain near which she is standing, and says nothing.
Again Mr. Frederick finds he has all the advances to make toward conversation, unaided by her.
“Miss Lennox tells me you were educated at a convent. Is that the reason you are so shy of me, or is it because I am a Protestant, Miss Lloyd?”
“My parents are Protestants, and all my relatives. It would be strange for me to be afraid of a Protestant.”
“And yet you can be of so very different a faith. May I ask, is it a matter of conscience with you, or only one of taste?”
“I do not understand religion being a matter of only taste, Mr. Schuyler,” she says simply.
“Why, don’t you think it is taste, preference only for the gorgeous and ceremonial, which makes the Ritualists of St. Alban’s and St. Mary’s do as they do?”
“I cannot decide upon their motives, Mr. Schuyler. I only know that if my conscience were not in this, I should not separate myself in my faith from that of my family.” She says this with a firm bearing and a lofty look at him which abashes him. He begins to suspect that this young convert will not swerve from her path from any regard for him. He has a full share of conceit, fed by his success with the girls of his acquaintance. He has won their smiles so readily heretofore, and he has pleased and flattered them so easily, that he is piqued at making no better impression now when he really tries.
Again Elinor moves to the door. He lets her pass with the words, “We are friends now, are we not?”
“Friends, oh! certainly,” she says, but her tone does not seem so delighted at this change in their relations as he thinks it should be.