It seemed to Cornelia that she had been asking him to praise her, and she was not going to have that. "Do you mean that I behave as badly as I did in the Fair House? No wonder you treat me like a child." This was not at all what she meant to say, however, and was worse than what she had said before.
"No," he answered seriously. "I meant that you are not capricious, and I hate caprice. But do I treat you like a child?"
"Sometimes," said Cornelia, looking down and feeling silly.
"I am very sorry. I wish you would tell me how."
She had not expected this pursuit, and she flashed back, "You are doing it now! You wouldn't say that to—to—any one else."
Ludlow paused thoughtfully. Then he said, "I seem to treat myself like a child when I am with you. Perhaps that's what displeases you. Well, I can't help that. It is because you are so true that I can't keep up the conventions with you." They were both silent; Cornelia was trying to think what she should say, and he added, irrelevantly, "If you don't like that sketch of her, I won't give it to her."
"I? What have I to do with it?" She did not know what they were talking about, or to what end. "Yes, you must give it to her. I know she wants it. And I know how kind you are, and good. I didn't mean—I didn't wish to blame you—I don't know why I'm making such a perfect fool of myself."
She had let him have her hand somehow, and he was keeping it; but they had both risen.
"May I stay a moment?" he entreated.
No one thing now seemed more inconsequent than another, and Cornelia answered, with a catching of her breath, but as if it quite followed, "Why, certainly," and they both sat down again.