“Have you made up your mind to go to-day?”
“Yes,” I cried, indignantly. “I shall only wait to see my uncle.”
“Then,” said she, coolly, “I will spare your nerves the anguish of a meeting.”
“A what?” I exclaimed.
“Since you have been in this house,” she replied, “your behaviour to me has been most insulting. You have pretended to be deaf when I spoke to you. You have ridiculed my book-learning. You have, I am sure, made the most odious comparisons between me and my cousin Constance; and lastly, you took the unwarrantable liberty of telling my father of my reception of you in the avenue yesterday, and earning me a reprimand. I had resolved that nothing less than a duel could wipe away the disgrace you have sought to cast upon me; but since you are leaving us, I need not exact this proof of a courage you boast of, but which I thoroughly question!”
“Are you mad?” I burst out. “But you are. O’Twist is mad! you are all mad! And if I were to stay here another day, I should go mad too! A duel—with a woman!”
“Pray,” said she, scornfully, “don’t try to make my sex a defence for your fears. If you have a mind to prove your courage, there are two pistols upstairs, and I shall be happy to accompany you to the back of the avenue at once. My father will not be down for another hour, so we need fear no interruption.”
“God help you!” said I. And I added, “What a fool I was to leave Grove End! There, at least, they know how to treat a gentleman.”
“A gentleman!” she exclaimed. “I am very sure that were you to behave to Conny as you have behaved to me——”
“Are you aware,” I interrupted her, “that in mentioning the name of Conny, you are speaking of the sweetest and most womanly of girls? who would no more insult me as you do, than I would knowingly insult you?”