"A fast, horsey, unladylike girl like that! How could you imagine Roger would even look at her! Nonsense!"
"It seems to me," says Stephen, with extreme acrimony, "that no one in this county is good enough for Roger; even you, it appears, fell short."
"I did not," indignantly. "It was I, of my own free will, who gave him up."
"Prove that to him by accepting me."
"You think he wants proof?" She is facing him now, and her eyes are flashing in the growing twilight.
"I do," says Stephen, defiantly. "For months he has treated you with all the airs of a proprietor, and you have submitted to it. All the world could see it. He will believe you sorry by-and-by for what has now happened; and if he should marry before you, what will they all say—what will you feel? What—"
She is now as pale as death. She lifts her hand and lays it impulsively against his lips, as though to prevent his further speech. She is trembling a little (from anger, she tells herself), and her breath is coming quickly and unevenly, so she stands for a moment collecting herself, with her fingers pressed against his lips, and then the agitation dies, and a strange coldness takes its place.
"You are sure you love me?" she asks, at length, in a hard, clear voice, so unlike her usual soft tones, that it startles even herself.
"My beloved, can't you see it?" he says, with deep emotion.
"Very well, then, I will marry you some day. And—and to-morrow—it must be to-morrow—you will let Roger know I am engaged to you? You quite understand?"