This was so apt an exposition of his mental process that Perior smiled rather helplessly.
"See," she said, rising and going to the writing-table, "I'll help you to leniency; show you some very evident extenuations." From a large bundle of letters she selected two. "Weigh the extent of my influence, and find it funny, if you like, as I do."
"I wonder if you quite realize the ludicrous aspect of our conversation," said Perior, taking a thick sheaf of paper from the first letter.
"Quite--quite. Only you push me to extremes. I must make you own my importance--my individuality."
"Ah, from Henge," said Perior, looking at the end of the letter. "He was my fag at Eton, you know; dear old Arthur!"
"Yes, and you quarrelled with him five years ago, about politics."
"We didn't quarrel," said Perior, with a touch of asperity; "he was quite big enough not to misunderstand my opposition. Must I read all this, Camelia? It looks rather dry."
"Well, I should like you to. He is one of the strongest men in the government, you know."
"Quite. He is the man for me, despite past differences of opinion. The man for you, too, perhaps," he added, glancing sharply up at her from the letter; "his devotion is public property, you know."
"But my reception of his devotion isn't," laughed Camelia.
"I am snubbed," said Perior, returning to the letter, and flushing a little. Camelia noted the flush. Dear old Alceste! Shielding so ineffectually, under his sharp blunt bearing, that quivering sensitiveness.
She put her hand through his arm, sinking down beside him, her eyes over his shoulder following his, while he read her--certificate. Perior quite understood the smooth making of amends.
"Well, what do you say to that?" she asked when he had obediently read to the very end.
"I should say that he was a man very much in love," said Perior, folding the letter.
"You are subtle if you can trace an amorous influence in that letter."
"It doesn't call for subtlety. Samson only abandons himself so completely under amorous circumstances. I hope you are not going to shear the poor fellow."
"For shame," said Camelia, while Perior, looking at her reflectively, softly slapped the palm of his hand with Arthur Henge's letter. "I am his comrade. I help him; I am on his side, if you please, and against the Philistines."