"Impossible; you're weak as a confounded rabbit!"
"I'm stronger than I look; I've walked regularly in the garden these last three days. However, if you go to London, I go too."
"Well, and if so—what could you do?"
"Remind you that a gentleman must endure unflinchingly and suffer with unshaken fortitude."
"Ha, would you preach at me?"
"Day and night, if necessary."
"Would you, begad!"
"I would! Indeed I would make myself a pestilential nuisance to help my friend."
"Friend!" he repeated. "Oh, curse and confound it, Perry, if I wasn't such a miserable, hopeless dog, I should be proud of such friendship—I am proud of it and always shall be—but here our companionship ends. There's but one course for me, and I intend to ride to the devil—alone!"
It was at this moment that the door opened and I rose to my feet, trembling, as Diana stepped into the room. She was clad for riding and her close-fitting habit served only to accentuate the voluptuous beauty of her form, yet her eyes seemed maidenly and untroubled, wide-opened and serenely steadfast as of old, and this of itself stirred within me a sullen resentment as she stood looking at me, a little pale, very wistful, yet radiant in her beauty; and when she spoke her voice was untroubled as her look.