"Don't be ridiculous!" she said.
"Well, shall I go and tell him for you this minute that you are perfectly indifferent to him?"
She made an effort to compose her features. "You can if you like," she replied.
"No, that wouldn't suit your little game, would it?"
"I have no little game," she snapped.
"No, it's big game,—the son of a marquis!"
They were at the foot of the terrace. He had succeeded in infuriating her. Her eyes shot fire and she stamped her foot. "That's simply vulgar!" she cried, loud enough for those on the terrace to hear. "You're vulgar!"
He retreated hastily to the steps that led to the drawing-room, whence he regarded her with a malevolent scowl. He could have said so much more to her, so many more wounding things. It was intolerable to be called "vulgar," when one had controlled one's wrath as he had done.
Meanwhile she, bracing herself for a dignified entrée, walked slowly up the steps, and faced the others who were just about to move off to the woods.
"Why, I haven't a gun!" she exclaimed, as she joined them.