Such a view would imply
indeed on Gordon's part a greater familiarity with the uses of irony
than he had ever possessed, as well as a livelier conviction of the
irritable nature of his friend's vanity. In fact, however, it may be
confided to the reader that Bernard was pricked in a tender place,
though the resentment of vanity was not visible in his answer.
"You were quite wrong," he simply said. "I am as ignorant of women as a
monk in his cloister."
"You try to prove too much. You don't think her sympathetic!" And as
regards this last remark, Gordon Wright must be credited with a certain
ironical impulse.
Bernard stopped impatiently.
"I ask you again, what does it matter to you what I think of her?"
"It matters in this sense--that she has refused me."
"Refused you? Then it is all over, and nothing matters."
"No, it is n't over," said Gordon, with a positive head-shake. "Don't
you see it is n't over?"
Bernard smiled, laid his hand on his friend's shoulder and patted it a
little.
"Your attitude might almost pass for that of resignation."
"I 'm not resigned!" said Gordon Wright.
"Of course not. But when were you refused?"
Gordon stood a minute with his eyes fixed on the ground.
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