"Where are you going?" asks she, brokenly.
"I don't know. It doesn't matter. But before I go, I want to say to you—that—that—if ever you want me, even if I should be at the end of the world, send for me, and I will come to you."
Are there tears in his eyes? He drops her hand, and turning hastily away, goes down the corridor, and is beyond recall before she can muster courage to say anything to him kind or forgiving.
Going into the yard to order the dog-cart to take him to the station to catch the up-train, he encounters Stephen Gower (who, by-the-by, had gone to encounter him), on his knees before a kennel, fondling a two-months old setter pup.
This pup is a baby belonging to one of Roger's favorite setters, and is, therefore, a special pet of his.
"Put that dog down," he says, insolently.
"Why?" says Stephen, just as insolently.
"Because petting is bad for young things, and because I wish it."
"Oh, nonsense!" says Stephen, rather cavalierly, continuing his attention to the dog.
"Look here," says Dare, furiously, "it has nothing to do with the dog, you will understand—nothing—but I want to tell you now what I think of you, you low, mean, contemptible—"