That was another mistake, for it gave to our meeting a clandestine appearance.

He said my word was law to him, and that he would obey, though to do so, that is, to leave me, was pain, you understand." "Yes, I can understand that he did not want to leave you," I answered.
But I saw that she had not finished, so I remained silent, and in a moment she continued:-- "He had been so respectful to me throughout that I thought him a modest, well-behaved gentleman, and--" I laughed, interrupting her to explain: "All art, Frances, all art.
You'll find much of that manufactured modesty at court.

It is the trump card in the game of love and is but a cloak for brazenness." "Yes, I so found it," she answered, drooping her head, "for when he was about to leave me at a secluded spot, he took my hand and would have kissed me without so much as 'By your leave,' had I not caught his intent before it was too late.

I drew away, inclined to be angry, and said, 'Sir, one may overrun one's course by going too fast.'" "That truism, under like circumstances at court, would have made you famous," I said, pleased alike with her naivete and her wisdom.
"I tried, with fair success, to appear offended," she continued, blushing deeply, "but the awful truth certainly is that I was not.

I suppose it is true that women like boldness and do not find wickedness in men as distasteful as mothers say it is." "On the contrary," I remarked, growing more and more delighted with her wisdom, innocence, and candor.
"Yes," she continued, blushing exquisitely, "even since you have told me how wicked he is, I am not sure that I like him less, though I fear him and shall avoid him as I should a pestilence." "Ah, but will you, can you, Frances ?" I asked.
"Indeed, yes, brother Ned, and if you doubt me, you don't know me," she returned.
"But do you know yourself ?" I asked.
"Yes, now I do, thanks to your bravery," she answered.
"But you saw him many times after his first bold attempt," I suggested.
"Oh, it was easily forgiven," she returned, naively.