It was one of his peculiarities that tea, of which he took enormous quantities, made him garrulous, and he expatiated much upon his college. By degrees, however, he became silent, and as he was sitting with his face to the window, he shifted his chair to the opposite side, under the pretence that the light dazzled his eyes. Pauline shifted too, apparently to make room for him, but really to get farther from him.
“Do people generally say that you take after your mother?” he said.
“I believe I am like my mother in many things.”
Another pause. He became fidgety; the half smile, half grin which he almost perpetually wore passed altogether from his face, and he looked uncomfortable and dangerous. Pauline felt him to be so, and resolved that, come what might, he should never set foot in the house again.
“You have such black hair,” he observed.
She rose to take away the tea-things.
“I am afraid,” said she, “that I must go out; I have one or two commissions to execute.”
He remained seated, and observed that surely she would not go alone.
“Why not?” and having collected the tea-things, she was on the point of leaving. He then rose, and she bade him good-bye. He held out his hand, and she took it in hers, but he did not let it go, and having pulled it upwards with much force, kissed it. He still held it, and before the astonished Pauline knew what he was doing his arm was round her waist. At that moment the little front gate swung back. Nobody was there; but the Reverend Thomas was alarmed, and in an instant she had freed herself, and had placed the table between them.
“What do you mean, you Gadarene pig, you scoundrel, by insulting a stranger in this way?” she cried. “Away! My father will know what to do with you.”