"Yes," he replied, helping himself to a piled spoonful of jam. "It is a bore to tell lies; and I’ve told more since you came than ever in my life before."
"Then the sooner I go the better," she swiftly cried; to which the retort was instantaneous.
She sprang to her feet, snatched her shawl from the back of a chair and put it on. "You won’t mind pouring out your second cup?" said she.
"No, that’ll be right enough, but before you go off in a naughty temper, there is a little ceremony we ought to go through, isn’t there?"
"But I do, and we may as well get it over." He leaned his two elbows on the table, with his cup of tea supported in front of his lips in both his hands. "Miss Innes, will you marry me?" he asked, and took a drink immediately.
She stood looking at him for a long minute without speech, hardly knowing whether to go on jesting or to let her anger have its way. At last:
"I’ve a great mind—oh, I really _have_ a great mind to say ’Yes,’ and be revenged! Just to see what you would do! You go too far! You rely too utterly upon my good manners. What _would_ you do, now, if I were to say ’Yes’?"
He got to his feet, his eyes gleaming. "I should think, if you’re not an idiot, you know pretty well what I should do," he replied; and took a step towards her.
She winced, as if her hurt had been physical. In her passion of self-despising she could almost have shrieked. This was the man she had championed, this the man who had, so she told him that morning only, _from first to last acted just as he ought_!
She got to the door somehow. When she actually had the iron ring of it in her hand she felt strength to speak. "I stood up for you," she said gaspingly. "I—I don’t think I have deserved that you should treat me—like this!"
He turned an odd colour, but she was too absorbed in her own outraged feelings to remark that. His voice was steady enough as he answered: "Now you know what sort I am. Like nothing on earth, eh? But you haven’t answered. I’ve asked you to marry me, and you’ve almost accepted me, you know."
"Come! That’s more like. Miserable caitiff, avaunt! Soil not the ear of Vere de Vere with thy pernicious twaddle! But, I say, if I’ve guessed right, and you are turning me down in a manner which might perhaps be described as unmitigated, at least you’ll let Madam and my brother know that I did come up to the scratch, won’t you? As for Balmayne, I’ll tell him myself that I asked you, but you wouldn’t have me."