He laughed.  “My unfortunate views!” he said.  “Whenever I make an inconvenient remark it is always set aside as an expression of certain dangerous crazes with which I am supposed to be afflicted.  When I point out to Sir Charles that one of his favorite artists has not accurately observed something before attempting to draw it, he replies, ’You know our views differ on these things, Trefusis.’  When I told Miss Wylie’s guardian that his emigration scheme was little better than a fraud, he said, ‘You must excuse me, but I cannot enter into your peculiar views.’  One of my views at present is that Miss Lindsay is more amiable under the influence of hemlock than under that of the social system which has made her so unhappy.”

“Well!” exclaimed Gertrude, outraged.  Then, after a pause, “I was under the impression that I had accepted the escort of a gentleman.”  Then, after another pause, Trefusis being quite undisturbed, “How do you know that I am unhappy?”

“By a certain defect in your countenance, which lacks the crowning beauty of happiness; and a certain defect in your voice which will never disappear until you learn to love or pity those to whom you speak.”

“You are wrong,” said Gertrude, with calm disdain.  “You do not understand me in the least.  I am particularly attached to my friends.”

“Then I have never seen you in their company.”

“You are still wrong.”

“Then how can you speak as you do, look as you do, act as you do?”

“What do you mean?  How do I look and act?”

“Like one of the railings of Belgrave Square, cursed with consciousness of itself, fears of the judgment of the other railings, and doubts of their fitness to stand in the same row with it.  You are cold, mistrustful, cruel to nervous or clumsy people, and more afraid of the criticisms of those with whom you dance and dine than of your conscience.  All of which prevents you from looking like an angel.”

“Thank you.  Do you consider paying compliments the perfection of gentlemanly behavior?”

“Have I been paying you many?  That last remark of mine was not meant as one.  On my honor, the angels will not disappoint me if they are no lovelier than you should be if you had that look in your face and that tone in your voice I spoke of just now.  It can hardly displease you to hear that.  If I were particularly handsome myself, I should like to be told so.”

“I am sorry I cannot tell you so.”

“Oh!  Ha! ha!  What a retort, Miss Lindsay!  You are not sorry either; you are rather glad.”

Gertrude knew it, and was angry with herself, not because her retort was false, but because she thought it unladylike.  “You have no right to annoy me,” she exclaimed, in spite of herself.

“None whatever,” he said, humbly.  “If I have done so, forgive me before we part.  I will go no further with you; Max will give the alarm if you faint in the avenue, which I don’t think you are likely to do, as you have forgotten all about the hemlock.”