"He didn't!" cried the girl. "I saw him as he stopped. I saw his face, and how astonished he looked. He turned away instantly."
"Well, what does it matter?" exclaimed Dyce, who was quivering with excitement. "What do I care? What need you care? Haven't we perfect liberty to meet? After all, what does it matter?"
"But you forget," said May, "that he knows of your engagement."
"My engagement! Let him know, and let him think what he likes! My engagement, indeed! Why, I haven't once thought of it since I left London—not once! There'll have to be an end to this intolerable state of things. Dymchurch isn't likely to tell anyone what he sees; he's a gentleman."
"I must go in at once," cried May, losing her head. "Somebody else may come. Go away, please! Don't stay another minute."
"But it's impossible. We have to come to an understanding. Listen to me, May!"
He grasped her hand, passed his other arm around her. There was resistance, but Dyce used his strength in earnest. The girl's beauty fired him; he became the fervid lover, leaving her no choice between high resentment and frank surrender. Indignation was dying out of May's look. She ceased to struggle, she bent her head to his shoulder.
"Isn't that much better?" he whispered, laughingly. "Isn't that the way out of our difficulties?"
May allowed him to breathe a few more such soothing sentences, then spoke with troubled accent.
"But you don't understand. What must Lord Dymchurch think of me—believing that you are engaged?"