By this time they had walked a score or so of paces together. The girl, after her first furious glance, had taken absolutely no notice of him except to quicken her pace a little. Tavernake remained by her side, however, showing not the slightest sense of embarrassment or annoyance. He seemed perfectly content to wait and he had not in the least the appearance of a man who could be easily shaken off. From a fit of furious anger she passed suddenly and without warning to a state of half hysterical amusement.
“You are a foolish, absurd person,” she declared. “Please go away. I do not wish you to walk with me.”
Tavernake remained imperturbable. She remembered suddenly his intervention on her behalf.
“If you insist upon knowing,” she said, “my name at Blenheim House was Beatrice Burnay. I am much obliged to you for what you did for me there, but that is finished. I do not wish to have any conversation with you, and I absolutely object to your company. Please leave me at once.”
“I am sorry,” he answered, “but that is not possible.”
“Not possible?” she repeated, wonderingly.
He shook his head.
“You have no money, you have eaten no dinner, and I do not believe that you have any idea where you are going,” he declared, deliberately.
Her face was once more dark with anger.
“Even if that were the truth,” she insisted, “tell me what concern it is of yours? Your reminding me of these facts is simply an impertinence.”