She could meet his gaze, and did so as she answered with cold collectedness:
"I am very sorry. I think it unworthy of you."
"I shall make no change whatever in my arrangements. Our marriage will take place on the day appointed."
"That can hardly be, Mr. Jacks, if the bride is not there."
"Miss Derwent, the bride will be there!"
He was not jesting. All the man's pride rose to assert dominion. The prime characteristic of his nation, that personal arrogance which is the root of English freedom, which accounts for everything best, and everything worst, in the growth of English power, possessed him to the exclusion of all less essential qualities. He was the subduer amazed by improbable defiance. He had never seen himself in such a situation it was as though a British admiral on his ironclad found himself mocked by some elusive little gunboat, newly invented by the condemned foreigner. His intellect refused to acknowledge the possibility of discomfiture; his soul raged mightily against the hint of bafflement. Humour would not come to his aid; the lighter elements of race were ousted; he was solid insolence, wooden-headed self-will.
Irene had risen.
"I am not feeling quite myself. I have said all there is to be said, and I must beg you to excuse me."
"You should have begun by saying that. It is what I insisted upon."
"Shall we shake hands, Mr. Jacks?"