them and say, "Isn't he clever?" as though they had taught me themselves. Bah! They invite me to their houses, I dine with them once a week; but if I were to tell them to-morrow that I wanted to marry one of their daughters, they would kick me out of the room, and consider it a greater insult than if the proposal had come from their own footman.
Lucy.But that doesn't matter, because you don't want to marry one of them, do you? Was that Miss Mockton with you in the Park last Sunday?
Harold.How do you know I was in the Park at all?
Lucy.Because I saw you there.
Harold.You were spying, I suppose.
Lucy.Spying? I don't know what you mean. I went there for a walk after church.
Lucy.Of course not, I was with Mrs. Glover.
Lucy.Why not?—Oh! you need not be afraid. I shouldn't have brought disgrace upon you by obliging you to acknowledge me before your grand friends. I took good care to keep in the background.
Harold.Do you mean to insinuate that I am a snob?
Lucy.Be a little kind.
Harold.Well, it is your own fault, you insinuate that———
Lucy.I was wrong. I apologise, but—but—[begins to cry].
Harold.There, don't make a scene—don't, there's a good girl. There, rest your head here, I suppose I am nasty. I didn't mean it, really. You must make allowances for me. I am worried and bothered. I can't work—at least I can't do work that satisfies me—and altogether I am not quite myself. Late hours are playing the very deuce with my nerves. There, let me kiss