“But—how did you lose it, and where?”
He told her how; that being a detail he had purposely omitted in previous narration of the incident. It was but frowningly received.
“I didn’t think you would attach so little value to anything I had given you, and yet I might have known you better.”
What is there about the English Sunday atmosphere that is apt to render contentious people more quarrelsome still, and those not naturally contentious—well, a little prickly? Raynier felt his patience ebbing. She was very unreasonable over the matter, and, really—she was quite old enough to have more sense.
“I don’t think you’re altogether fair to me, Cynthia,” he answered, his own tone getting rather short. “The thing was unavoidable, you see. Unless you mean you would rather the man’s brains had been knocked out by that bestial mob than that I should have given him some means of defending himself. I value the stick immensely, and am doing all I can to recover it, but I should have thought even you would hardly have valued it at something beyond the price of a man’s life.”
“Only a blackamoor’s,” she retorted, now white and tremulous with anger.
“Sorry I can’t agree with you,” he answered shortly, for he was thoroughly disgusted. “I have seen rather too much of that sort of ‘blackamoor,’ as you so elegantly term it, not to recognise that he, like ourselves, has his place and use in his own part of the world. I repeat, I am as sorry as you are the stick should have been lost, but I should have thought that, under the circumstances, no woman—with the feelings of a woman—would have held me to blame.”
“That’s right. Sneer at me; it’s so manly,” she retorted, having reached the tremulous point of rage. “But why didn’t you tell me of it at first? Rather underhand, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, no. I don’t deal in that sort of ware, thanks. I did not tell you, solely out of consideration for your feelings. I had hoped the thing might have been recovered by this time—then I would have told you. And look here, Cynthia. Would it surprise you to learn that I am getting more than a little sick of this sort of thing. I am not accustomed to being found fault with and hectored every minute of the day. In fact, I’m too old for it, and much too old ever to grow used to it. And since I’ve been down here this time there’s hardly a moment you haven’t been setting me to rights and generally finding fault with me. Well, if that’s the order of the day now, what will it be if we are to spend our lives together? Really, I think we’d better seriously reconsider that programme.”
She looked at him. Just her father’s warning. But she was too angry for prudent counsel to prevail.