Maud was now saying to herself, “Why, if half this is true, he is a remarkable man,” like many other credulous people, not reflecting that, when half a man says is false, the other half is apt to be also.  She began to think it would be worth her while, a red feather in her cap, to refuse such a picturesque person; and then it occurred to her that he had not proposed to marry her, and possibly had no such intention.  As his stream of talk, dwelling on his own acts of valor and craft, ran on, she began to feel slightly piqued at its lack of reference to herself.  Was this to be a mere afternoon call after all, with no combat and no victory?  She felt drawn after awhile to bring her small resources of coquetry into play.  She interrupted him with saucy doubts and questions; she cast at him smiles and glances, looking up that he might admire her eyes, and down that her lashes might have their due effect.

He interpreted all these signs in a favorable sense, but still prudently refrained from committing himself, until directly challenged by the blush and simper with which she said: 

“I suppose you must have seen a great many pretty ladies in Mexico?”

He waited a moment, looking at her steadily until her eyelids trembled and fell, and then he said, seriously and gravely: 

“I used to think so; but I never saw there or anywhere else as pretty a lady as I see at this minute.”

This was the first time in her life that Maud had heard such words from a man.  Sam Sleeny, with all his dumb worship, had never found words to tell her she was beautiful, and Bott was too grossly selfish and dull to have thought of it.  Poor Sleeny, who would have given his life for her, had not wit enough to pay her a compliment.  Offitt, whose love was as little generous as the hunger of a tiger, who wished only to get her into his power, who cared not in the least by what means he should accomplish this, who was perfectly willing to have her find out all his falsehoods the day after her wedding, relying upon his brute strength to retain her then,—­this conscienceless knave made more progress by these words than Sam by months of the truest devotion.  Yet the impression he made was not altogether pleasant.  Thirsting for admiration as she did, there was in her mind an indistinct conscious ness that the man was taking a liberty; and in the sudden rush of color to her cheek and brow at Offitt’s words, there was at first almost as much anger as pleasure.  But she had neither the dignity nor the training required for the occasion, and all the reply she found was: 

“Oh, Mr. Offitt, how can you say so?”

“I say so,” he answered, with the same unsmiling gravity, “because it’s the fact.  I have been all over the world.  I have seen thousands of beautiful ladies, even queens and markisses, and I never yet saw and I never expect to see such beauty as yours, Miss Maud Matchin, of Buffland.”

She still found no means to silence him or defend herself.  She said, with an uneasy laugh, “I am sure I don’t see where the wonderful beauty is.”