If he thought he was
being deceived, do you think it likely he would feel bound to be
scrupulous?"
"But he _did_ believe in me," she declared, passionately.
"He pretended to; it was part of the play. You see he only kept it up
until he thoroughly understood you, and then his real feelings
appeared, and he was rude to you. For I call his absence on that
occasion distinctly rude, and intentionally so too, since he sent no
apology."
"He was only rude to me to save me from myself, then, as Lancelot was
rude to Elaine," she answered.
"Or is it not just possible that he was disappointed when he found you
better than he had supposed? that he felt he had wasted his time for
nothing, and was irritated----"
She interrupted me. "I forgive you," she said, "because you do not know
him. But I shall never convince you. You are prejudiced. You do not
think ill of me: why do you think ill of him?"
I made no answer, and she was silent for a little. Then she began
again, recurring to the point at issue:
"If he did slight me on that occasion," she said--"and I maintain that
he did not--but if he did, it was accidentally done.
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