“Indeed you may believe me!” he assured her.
She hesitated—for the pleasure of hesitating. “I don’t know. Emily is very much admired by some men. Why not by you?”
“For the best of reasons,” he answered “She is poor, and I am poor. Those are facts which speak for themselves.”
“Yes—but Emily is bent on attracting you. She would marry you to-morrow, if you asked her. Don’t attempt to deny it! Besides, you kissed her hand.”
“Oh, Miss de Sor!”
“Don’t call me ‘Miss de Sor’! Call me Francine. I want to know why you kissed her hand.”
He humored her with inexhaustible servility. “Allow me to kiss your hand, Francine!—and let me explain that kissing a lady’s hand is only a form of thanking her for her kindness. You must own that Emily—”
She interrupted him for the third time. “Emily?” she repeated. “Are you as familiar as that already? Does she call you ‘Miles,’ when you are by yourselves? Is there any effort at fascination which this charming creature has left untried? She told you no doubt what a lonely life she leads in her poor little home?”
Even Mirabel felt that he must not permit this to pass.
“She has said nothing to me about herself,” he answered. “What I know of her, I know from Mr. Wyvil.”