"If it is to come to that," he said, "I might as well go back to Dobbydom."
"You may shoot if you like," said Lady Mabel.
"I haven't even brought a gun with me."
"Then we'll have a walk,—a whole lot of us," she said.
In the evening, about an hour before dinner, Silverbridge and Lady Mabel were seated together on the bank of a little stream which ran on the other side of the road, but on a spot not more than a furlong from the hall-door. She had brought him there, but she had done so without any definite scheme. She had made no plan of campaign for the evening, having felt relieved when she found herself able to postpone the project of her attack till the morrow. Of course there must be an attack, but how it should be made she had never had the courage to tell herself. The great women of the world, the Semiramises, the Pocahontas, the Ida Pfeiffers, and the Charlotte Cordays, had never been wanting to themselves when the moment for action came. Now she was pleased to have this opportunity added to her; this pleasant minute in which some soft preparatory word might be spoken; but the great effort should be made on the morrow.
"Is not this nicer than shooting with Mr. Dobbes?" she asked.
"A great deal nicer. Of course I am bound to say so."
"But in truth, I want to find out what you really like. Men are so different. You need not pay me any compliment; you know that well enough."
"I like you better than Dobbes,—if you mean that."
"Even so much is something."