"Everything. You know he might be here—with you, and he's not."
"That's his business."
"And mine!" audaciously answered the young man.
"Will you please not take my hand, and recollect that I'm not a housemaid 'walking out' with her young man?"
He did not obey her.
"I should never have suspected you of such bank-holiday manners," she said, at once amused and angry.
"You can call it bank-holiday or anything you like—and if you don't like it I'm sorry, but really you deserve it! You may drive people mad with your little ways, and they may stand it if they like. I can't."
Evidently Mr. Wilton was losing his head. It was quite interesting.
"I saw from the first that firmness is my only chance with you," he said half apologetically. He then made the terrible mistake of trying to kiss her. She slid away like an acrobat, pressed the electric bell, and sat down again with a heightened colour.
"I beg your pardon," said Wilton humbly. "I know it was very wrong. I couldn't help it. You needn't ring and turn me out of the house,—I'll go."