“You succeeded in everything.”
“I am very sorry,” she continued, blushing again, though meeting my eyes; “you didn’t deserve such bad treatment. Had you been a fop, or a silly fellow, I should not regret tormenting you. But you are neither, and bore your sufferings so good-naturedly, that my conscience pricked me every time I forced a sneer, or answered you rudely.”
“Had you treated me twenty times more rudely than you did,” I answered, “you have said more than enough to entitle you to the fullest forgiveness. I applaud your motives highly, and think so well of your resolution not to be made love to without your consent, that I am only surprised you should have behaved with so much moderation.”
“Don’t be ironical. Moderation! Think of O’Twist last night!”
“Poor O’Twist! had I not thought him mad, I should have thrashed him. But I was really afraid not only to raise my hand, but even to show my indignation, not knowing what might become of me, should the lunatic’s rage be excited!”
“I can only repeat,” said she, “that I am very sorry it has happened. I will not say so again: for one apology is enough, when you are sincere. Papa was too emphatic. He fully impressed me with the idea that a marriage between us was settled, and—and I was determined not to be married in such an off-hand way.”
And then a bright blush glowed in those cheeks, which, a few hours before, I could have sworn were incapable of blushing; she tried to smile, but looked terribly confused and nervous.
“You must have a great deal of courage to handle a pistol as you do,” said I, willing to relieve her by changing the subject. “All the girls I have known would rather play with a black beetle than gunpowder.”
“I began to shoot long before I heard you were coming,” she answered, quickly.
“Yes, I know. Your father says you are a capital shot.”