"One moment," said Mary. "Mr. Goyles, here is the ring you gave me. Good-bye. When next you make a public speech calling for decisive action I will come and applaud it. You speak so well about that sort of thing. But otherwise, I think we had better not meet again."
"Of course," said the young man bitterly, "your people have forced me into this position, and you turn round and sneer at me too."
"I didn't mind thinking you were a murderer," said Lady Mary spitefully, "but I do mind your being such an ass."
Before Mr. Goyles could reply, Mr. Parker, bewildered but not wholly displeased, maneuvered his charge out of the room. Mary walked over to the window, and stood biting her lips.
Presently Lord Peter came across to her. "I say, Polly, old Murbles has asked us to lunch. Would you like to come? Sir Impey Biggs will be there."
"I don't want to meet him today. It's very kind of Mr. Murbles—"
"Oh, come along, old thing. Biggs is some celebrity, you know, and perfectly toppin' to look at, in a marbly kind of way. He'll tell you all about his canaries—"
Mary giggled through her obstinate tears.
"It's perfectly sweet of you, Peter, to try and amuse the baby. But I can't. I'd make a fool of myself. I've been made enough of a fool of for one day."
"Bosh," said Peter. "Of course, Goyles didn't show up very well this morning, but, then, he was in an awfully difficult position. Do come."