He shook his head again.
"For five minutes!"
Instead of answering, he gently lifted a long lock of my hair, which hung at the side of my neck. (My head, I should add, had been dressed that evening on the old-fashioned plan, by my aunt's maid—to please my aunt.)
"If I stay for five minutes longer," he said, "I shall ask for something."
"For what?"
"You have beautiful hair, Lucilla."
"You can't want a lock of my hair, surely?"
"Why not?"
"I gave you a keepsake of that sort—ages ago. Have you forgotten it?"
[Note.—The keepsake had of course been given to the true Oscar, and was then, as it is now, still in his possession. Notice, when he recovers himself, how quickly the false Oscar infers this, and how cleverly he founds his excuse upon it.—P.]