“Of course I am tired, stupid creature!” replied Miss Marling.
“Go into the inn,” he commanded. “We dine here.”
“I vow I could not eat a morsel!”
He did not pay any heed to this, but walked back to say something to his groom. Miss Marling, hating him, flounced into the inn, and was escorted by the landlord to a private parlour. A fire had been kindled in the grate, and Juliana drew up a chair and sat down, spreading her chilled fingers to the warmth.
Presently the Marquis came in. He flung his greatcoat over a chair, and kicked the smouldering logs to a small blaze. “That’s better,” he said briskly.
“You have made it smoke,” remarked Miss Marling in a voice of long suffering.
He looked down at her with a hint of a smile. “You’re hungry, and devilish cross, Ju.”
Her bosom swelled. “You have treated me abominably,” she said.
“Fiddle!” replied the Marquis.
“You let me be jolted and bumped till the teeth rattled in my head. You thrust me into your odious chaise as though I were a mere piece of baggage, and you have not the civility to stay with me.”