"Oh! yes, you behaved shockingly!" rejoined Cornelia, laughing with him.
"Mind! I don't care how devoted you are to Sophie--the more the better;
but, when you do notice me, I want you to do it kindly--won't you?"
"I'll be sure to, now that I know you care any thing about it."
"And what made you think I didn't care about it, if you please, sir?"
"Why," stammered he, quite at a loss what to say, and so coming out with
the truth, "I thought you were offended at my being engaged to Sophie!"
"But what should there be in that to offend me?" demanded Cornelia, with
the mouth and eyes of Innocence.
"I don't know:--well--I knew you first!" he blurted forth, beginning to
wish he had been satisfied to hold his tongue.
Cornelia took her breath once or twice, and then bit it off on her under
lip, as if about to say something, and afterward hesitating about it.
"I don't quite understand you," she managed to get out at last; "do
you--forgive me if I'm wrong--but perhaps you're thinking of that
time--when--just before I went away?"
Saying this, she drooped her eyes in a confusion, which, because more
than half of it was genuine, made her look very fascinating. Nothing is
more seductive than a little truth. As Bressant looked at her, and
thought of what lie had done at that last interview, soft thrills crept
sweetly through his blood, and he felt a most extraordinary tenderness
for her.
"I've often thought of it," answered he, in a tone which did not belie
his words.
"Well--so have I, to tell the truth!" rejoined Cornelia, looking up for
a moment with glowing candor. "But we won't either of us think of it any
more, will we? It seems very long ago, now; and it'll never be again,
and we ought to forget it ever was at all. But, oh! most of all, you
must forget it if it will ever be a reason for your disliking me, or
wishing not to see me! I know how disagreeable it must be to you to
think of it now."
Did Cornelia know what she was about? had she netted beforehand all the
meshes of this web she was throwing over him? the admirable mixture of
frankness and subtlety, nature and art--must it not have been planned
and calculated beforehand, to bewilder and mislead?--It may well be
doubted. No preconceived and elaborated programme can come up to the
inspiration of the moment, which is genius. Such felicitous wording of
subject-matter so objectionable: such an unassailable presentation of so
indefensible a principle--could hardly have been the fruit of
premeditation. Cornelia was allowing things to take their course.
"It isn't disagreeable! it's--" Bressant broke off, unable or unprepared
to say what it was. "Why must we forget it?" he added, with a
half-assured look of significance. "You said we were brother and sister,
you know!"