by still murkier presences, by Lady Cayley and her kind. She persisted
with a magnificent irrelevance.

"You must know her. You would like her."

He didn't in the least want to know Mrs. Eliott, he didn't think that he
would like her. But he was soothed, flattered, insanely pleased with
Anne's assumption that he would. It was as if in her thoughts she were
drawing him towards her. He felt that she was softening, yielding. His
approaches were a delicious wooing of an unfamiliar, unwedded Anne.

"I would like her, because you like her, is that it?"

"It wouldn't follow."

"Oh, how you spoil it!"

"Spoil what?"

"My inference. It pleased me. But, as you say, the logic wasn't sound."

Silence being the only dignified course under mystification, Anne was
silent. Some men had that irritating way with women; Walter's smile
suggested that he might have it. She was not going to minister to his
male delight. Unfortunately her silence seemed to please him too.

"Never mind, dear, I do like her; because she likes you."

"You will like her for herself when you know her."