And yet Eleanor understood him as thoroughly as though he had
declared his passion with all the elegant fluency of a practised
Lothario. With a woman's instinct, she followed every bend of his
mind as he spoke of the pleasantness of Plumstead and the stones of
Oxford, as he alluded to the safety of the Romish priest and the
hidden perils of temptation. She knew that it all meant love. She
knew that this man at her side, this accomplished scholar, this
practised orator, this great polemical combatant, was striving and
striving in vain to tell her that his heart was no longer his own.

She knew this, and felt a sort of joy in knowing it; yet she would
not come to his aid. He had offended her deeply, had treated her
unworthily, the more unworthily seeing that he had learnt to love
her, and Eleanor could not bring herself to abandon her revenge. She
did not ask herself whether or no she would ultimately accept his
love. She did not even acknowledge to herself that she now perceived
it with pleasure. At the present moment it did not touch her heart;
it merely appeased her pride and flattered her vanity. Mr. Arabin
had dared to associate her name with that of Mr. Slope, and now her
spirit was soothed by finding that he would fain associate it with
his own. And so she walked on beside him, inhaling incense but
giving out no sweetness in return.

"Answer me this," said Mr. Arabin, stopping suddenly in his walk and
stepping forward so that he faced his companion. "Answer me this one
question. You do not love Mr. Slope? You do not intend to be his
wife?"

Mr. Arabin certainly did not go the right way to win such a woman
as Eleanor Bold. Just as her wrath was evaporating, as it was
disappearing before the true warmth of his untold love, he rekindled
it by a most useless repetition of his original sin. Had he known
what he was about, he should never have mentioned Mr. Slope's name
before Eleanor Bold, till he had made her all his own. Then, and not
till then, he might have talked of Mr. Slope with as much triumph as
he chose.

"I shall answer no such question," said she; "and what is more,
I must tell you that nothing can justify your asking it. Good
morning!"

And so saying, she stepped proudly across the lawn and, passing
through the drawing-room window, joined her father and sister at
lunch in the dining-room. Half an hour afterwards she was in the
carriage, and so she left Plumstead without again seeing Mr. Arabin.