“But I am not going to ride back with you, King,” she said, recovering her composure. “I must withdraw my invitation to you,” she went on, turning to the Squire. “But you can return the compliment by inviting me to share your conveyance—Shanks’s mare, I believe the boys call it.”
“But it is two miles,” remonstrated the Squire.
“Only a pleasant stroll after the stuffiness of the school house. Come!” She seized his arm and brushed past Bradish, for the people were beginning to come out of the school house with their lamps.
He overtook them a few rods down the road.
“Sylvie,” he said, walking his horse close to them, “I don’t propose to discuss this thing in the highway, but you certainly can’t be intending to walk home with this man, under the circumstances.” He dwelt on the last word.
She did not reply, but continued to chat to the Squire, who plodded on, dumb and confounded at the turn affairs had taken.
“And I shall tell your father!” drawled Bradish, venom in his tone.
“Tell him whatever you think will be the best for all concerned,” she replied with fully as much significance.
They heard him lashing his horse cruelly as he turned the corner into the Cove road.
But during the walk to the village his name was not mentioned between them.