Harding straightened up, and one hand clenched.
"Stop! We're going to thrash this matter out."
His manner was commanding and Beatrice waited, although she was not used to obeying.
"You were angry at first," he said. "You are rather angry now; but I did you no wrong."
"I admit that. But I wish this hadn't happened. It has spoiled everything."
"Then you liked me as a friend?"
"Yes," Beatrice answered hesitatingly; "I'll be frank. You are different from the men I know."
"Then what have you against me as a lover? Character, person, manners, or opinions?"
She was silent a moment, feeling that she ought to go away. In staying she was trifling with danger; but after all he had a right to be heard.
"Oh, I know your people's point of view," he went on; "but I think it is not altogether yours. In one respect, they're wrong. My mother was the daughter of a bush pioneer, and in all that's most important I'm her son; but my father belonged to your own rank. He was brought up as an English gentleman. I'll show you the evidence I have of this some day, though it makes no difference."