“I’ll never speak to you again. No gentleman would have—oh, I do hope you’re ashamed of yourself!”
Her words evidently struck home. With an air of contrition he sank on the seat.
“I’m a beast,” he said ruefully. “You’re quite right, Miss Bellairs. Don’t have anything more to say to me. I wish I was—I wish I had some—some self-control—and self-respect, you know. If I were a fellow like Ashforth now, I should never have done that! Of course you can’t forgive me,” and, in his extremity of remorse, he buried his face in his hands.
Dora stood beside him. She made one step as if to leave him; a glance at him brought her back, and she looked down at him for a minute. Presently a troubled doubtful little smile appeared on her face; when she realized it was there, she promptly banished it. Alas! It was too late. The rascal had been peeping through his fingers, and, with a ringing laugh, he sprang to his feet, caught both her hands, and cried, “Shocking, wasn’t it? Awful?”
“Let me go, Mr. Ellerton.”
“Must I?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Why? Why, when you——?”
“Sir Roger’s coming. Look behind you.”
“Oh, the deuce!”