new kind of love-making, which introduced marriage by the finest contrast.
"Not one!" said Gwendolen, getting saucy, and nodding at him defiantly.
He lifted her little left hand to his lips, and then released it respectfully. Clearly it was faint praise to say of him that he was not disgusting: he was almost charming; and she felt at this moment that it was not likely she could ever have loved another man better than this one. His reticence gave her some inexplicable, delightful consciousness.
"Apropos," she said, taking up her work again, "is there any one besides Captain and Mrs Torrington at Diplow?—or do you leave them tête-à-tête? I suppose he converses in cigars, and she answers with her chignon."
"She has a sister with her," said Grandcourt, with his shadow of a smile, "and there are two men besides—one of them you know, I believe."
"Ah, then, I have a poor opinion of him," said Gwendolen, shaking her head.
"You saw him at Leubronn—young Deronda—a young fellow with the Mallingers."
Gwendolen felt as if her heart were making a sudden gambol, and her fingers, which tried to keep a firm hold on her work, got cold.
