“What is the matter, Cousin Elsie?  What do you stop for?” he said.

Elsie did not answer, but kept her eyes on him, full of malicious light.  The jealousy which lay covered up under his surface-thoughts took this opportunity to break out.

“You would n’t act so, if you were dancing with Mr. Langdon,—­would you, Elsie?” he asked.

It was with some effort that he looked steadily at her to see the effect of his question.

Elsie colored,—­not much, but still perceptibly.  Dick could not remember that he had ever seen her show this mark of emotion before, in all his experience of her fitful changes of mood.  It had a singular depth of significance, therefore, for him; he knew how hardly her color came.  Blushing means nothing, in some persons; in others, it betrays a profound inward agitation,—­a perturbation of the feelings far more trying than the passions which with many easily moved persons break forth in tears.  All who have observed much are aware that some men, who have seen a good deal of life in its less chastened aspects and are anything but modest, will blush often and easily, while there are delicate and sensitive women who can faint, or go into fits, if necessary, but are very rarely seen to betray their feelings in their cheeks, even when their expression shows that their inmost soul is blushing scarlet.  Presently she answered, abruptly and scornfully, “Mr. Langdon is a gentleman, and would not vex me as you do.”

“A gentleman!” Dick answered, with the most insulting accent,—­“a gentleman!  Come, Elsie, you ’ve got the Dudley blood in your veins, and it does n’t do for you to call this poor, sneaking schoolmaster a gentleman!”

He stopped short.  Elsie’s bosom was heaving, the faint flush on her cheek was becoming a vivid glow.  Whether it were shame or wrath, he saw that he had reached some deep-lying centre of emotion.  There was no longer any doubt in his mind.  With another girl these signs of confusion might mean little or nothing; with her they were decisive and final.  Elsie Venner loved Bernard Langdon.

The sudden conviction, absolute, overwhelming, which rushed upon him, had well-nigh led to an explosion of wrath, and perhaps some terrible scene which might have fulfilled some of old Sophy’s predictions.  This, however, would never do.  Dick’s face whitened with his thoughts, but he kept still until he could speak calmly.

“I’ve nothing against the young fellow,” he said; “only I don’t think there’s anything quite good enough to keep the company of people that have the Dudley blood in them.  You a’n’t as proud as I am.  I can’t quite make up my mind to call a schoolmaster a gentleman, though this one may be well enough.  I ’ve nothing against him, at any rate.”