"Marmaduke," I whisper, nervously, "Marmaduke, may I drive home with you?"
"With me! For what?"
His tone is stern and uncompromising. My new-found courage evaporates.
"Because I—I want to—very much," I answer, feebly, much dispirited.
"You came here with Gore. Why not return with him? It seems to me far better for all parties you should do so."
"But I do not wish it. I would rather drive home with any one than Sir Mark Gore. Oh, Marmaduke, please let me go with you."
"It is rather late to think of saving appearances, if you mean that."
"I do not mean it. I am not thinking of anything but you."
He laughs unpleasantly.
"Did Harriet tell you to make that sweet little speech?