Lottie became irritated almost beyond the endurance of a naturally patient soul.
“Do you mean to leave me to stand alone against all my difficulties, Mr. Markham?”
“I should be sorry to do that, Miss Vincent. If you have difficulties, tell me what they are; and if they are of such a nature that they can be curtailed by me, you may depend upon my exerting myself.”
“You know very well what idiots these Bayonetteers are,” cried Lottie.
“I know that most of them have promised to act in your theatricals,” replied Markham quietly; and Lottie tried to read his soul in another of her glances to discover the exact shade of the meaning of his words, but she gave up the quest.
“Of course you can please yourself, Mr. Markham,” she said, with a coldness that was meant to appal him.
“And I trust that I may never be led to do so at the expense of another,” he remarked.
“Then you will come in our coach?” she cried, brightening up.
“Pray do not descend to particulars when we are talking in this vague way on broad matters of sentiment, Miss Vincent.”
“But I must know what you intend to do at once.”