"Here, take this," he says, roughly, taking off his coat and placing it round her shoulders.
"No, thank you," says Miss Beresford, stiffly.
"You must," returns he, and, to his surprise, she makes no further resistance. Perhaps she is cowed by the authority of his manner; perhaps she doesn't like the raindrops.
Encouraged, however, by her submission to a further daring of fortune, he says, presently,—
"You might have given Cobbett a turn, I think, instead of devoting yourself all day to that egregious ass."
"He prefers talking to Hermia. I suppose you don't want me to go up to people and ask them to be civil to me?"
"Some other fellow, then."
"You would be just as jealous of him, whoever he was."
"I am not jealous at all," indignantly. "I only object to your saying one thing to me and another to him."
"What is the one thing I say to you?"