“I must have your distinct reply, and in Mr. Romfrey’s presence:—say, that if you accused him you were mistaken, or that they were mistaken who supposed you had accused him. I must have the answer before you go.”
“Sir, will you learn manners!” Mr. Romfrey said to him, with a rattle of the throat.
Beauchamp turned his face from her.
Colonel Halkett offered her his arm to lead her away.
“What is it? Oh, what is it?” she whispered, scarcely able to walk, but declining the colonel’s arm.
“You ought not to have been dragged out here,” said he. “Any one might have known there would be no convincing of Captain Beauchamp. That old rascal in Bevisham has been having a beating; that’s all. And a very beautiful day it is!—a little too hot, though. Before we leave, you must give me a lesson or two in gardening.”
“Dr. Shrapnel—Mr. Romfrey!” said Rosamund half audibly under the oppression of the more she saw than what she said.
The colonel talked of her renown in landscape-gardening. He added casually: “They met the other day.”
“By accident?”
“By chance, I suppose. Shrapnel defends one of your Steynham poaching vermin.”