As she turned her horse from Lord Suckling, the cavalier who had saluted her when she was with Sir William passed again. She made a signal to her groom, and sent the man flying in pursuit of him, while she turned and cantered. She was soon overtaken.
“Madam, you have done me the honour.”
“I wish to know why it is your pleasure to avoid me, Major Waring?”
“In this place?”
“Wherever we may chance to meet.”
“I must protest.”
“Do not. The thing is evident.”
They rode together silently.
Her face was toward the sunset. The light smote her yellow hair, and struck out her grave and offended look, as in a picture.
“To be condemned without a hearing!” she said. “The most dastardly criminal gets that. Is it imagined that I have no common feelings? Is it manly to follow me with studied insult? I can bear the hatred of fools. Contempt I have not deserved. Dead! I should be dead, if my conscience had once reproached me. I am a mark for slander, and brave men should beware of herding with despicable slanderers.”