Lizzie sat so still, that one could not have said wherein the fact of her manner being troubled was expressed; and yet one could not have doubted it. Eugene was as easy as ever; but perhaps, as she sat with her eyes cast down, it might have been rather more perceptible that his attention was concentrated upon her for certain moments, than its concentration upon any subject for any short time ever was, elsewhere.
“I have nothing to report, Lizzie,” said Eugene. “But, having promised you that an eye should be always kept on Mr. Riderhood through my friend Lightwood, I like occasionally to renew my assurance that I keep my promise, and keep my friend up to the mark.”
“I should not have doubted it, sir.”
“Generally, I confess myself a man to be doubted,” returned Eugene, coolly, “for all that.”
“Why are you?” asked the sharp Miss Wren.
“Because, my dear,” said the airy Eugene, “I am a bad idle dog.”
“Then why don’t you reform and be a good dog?” inquired Miss Wren.
“Because, my dear,” returned Eugene, “there’s nobody who makes it worth my while. Have you considered my suggestion, Lizzie?” This in a lower voice, but only as if it were a graver matter; not at all to the exclusion of the person of the house.
“I have thought of it, Mr. Wrayburn, but I have not been able to make up my mind to accept it.”
“False pride!” said Eugene.
“I think not, Mr. Wrayburn. I hope not.”