“You have become an enigma again. But yours is not the creed of a simpleton. You are playing with me--revealing your wisdom from beneath a veil of infantile guilelessness. I have no more to say.” “May I be shot if I understand you! I never pretended to be guileless. Come: is it because I raised a laugh against your cousin that you’re so spiteful?” Lydia looked earnestly and doubtfully at him; and he instinctively put his head back, as if it were in danger. “You do not understand, then?” she said. “I will test the genuineness of your stupidity by an appeal to your obedience.” “Stupidity! Go on.” “But will you obey me, if I lay a command upon you?” “I will go through fire and water for you.” Lydia blushed faintly, and paused to wonder at the novel sensation before she resumed. “You had better not apologize to my cousin: partly because you would only make matters worse; chiefly because he does not deserve it. But you must make this speech to Mrs. Hoskyn when you are going: ‘I am very sorry I forgot myself’--” “Sounds like Shakespeare, doesn’t it?” observed Cashel. “Ah! the test has found you out; you are only acting after all. But that does not alter my opinion that you should apologize.” “All right. I don’t know what you mean by testing and acting; and I only hope you know yourself. But no matter; I’ll apologize; a man like me can afford to. I’ll apologize to your cousin, too, if you like.” “I do not like. But what has that to do with it? I suggest these things, as you must be aware, for your own sake and not for mine.” “As for my own, I don’t care twopence: I do it all for you. I don’t even ask whether there is anything between you and him.” “Would you like to know?” said Lydia, deliberately, after a pause of astonishment. “Do you mean to say you’ll tell me?” he exclaimed. “If you do, I’ll say you’re as good as gold.” “Certainly I will tell you. There is an old friendship and cousinship between us; but we are not engaged, nor at all likely to be. I tell you so because, if I avoided the question, you would draw the opposite and false conclusion.” “I am glad of it,” said Cashel, unexpectedly becoming very gloomy. “He isn’t man enough for you. But he’s your equal, damn him!” “He is my cousin, and, I believe, my sincere friend. Therefore please do not damn him.” “I know I shouldn’t have said that. But I am only damning my own luck.” “Which will not improve it in the least.” “I know that. You needn’t have said it. I wouldn’t have said a thing like that to you, stupid as I am.” “Evidently you suppose me to have meant more than I really did. However, that does not matter. You are still an enigma to me. Had we not better try to hear a little of Madame Szczymplica’s performance?”