'Why?' asked she, in return; 'for what reason. It is impossible—what may people say?'
'What they please, if seen, which it never shall be.'
'What might they not think?'
'Oh, what does it matter?' he urged again, with much would-be sadness and tenderness.
'Little to you, perhaps, but much to me,' retorted Olive; 'but I do not choose that aught should be either thought or said about it. We shall certainly be accused of flirting.'
'No, no, Miss Raymond—oh, no, Olive——'
'Olive!' she repeated, in a startled manner.
'Pardon me—none could ever accuse me of flirting with you—that were an impossibility—for deeper thoughts——'
'My bangle, please, Mr. Holcroft, and at once!' she said, imperatively, in dread of what more he might say.
She held forth her hand, but the trinket either would not come off his wrist, or he pretended that such was the case. Olive tried to remove it, but in vain, and glanced round her, red with vexation. Her hand was gloved, otherwise she would have felt how unpleasantly cold and clammy were the fingers of her would-be lover.