In the pace of the lady, who carried her head high, with a slight wave sometimes to this side, sometimes to that, was as much of what we term swagger as is compatible with feminine grace. Sometimes a sudden halt, for a moment, and a "left face" movement on her companion. Sir Jekyl, on the other hand, bore himself, he thought, like a gentleman a good deal annoyed and irritated.
All this struck M. Varbarriere in a very few seconds, during which, uncertain whether he ought to come forward or not, he hesitated where he stood.
It was plain, however, that he was quite unobserved standing in a recess of the evergreens; so he leaned once more upon the parapet, and applied his glass to his eye.
Now he was right in his conjecture. This had been a very stormy walk, though the cool grey light of morning is not the season for exciting demonstrations. We will take them up in the midst of their conversation, a little before Monsieur Varbarriere saw them—just as Sir Jekyl said with a slight sneer—
"Oh, of course, it was very kind."
"More, it's princely, sir," cried Lady Jane.
"Well, princely—very princely—only, pray, dear Jane, do not talk so very loud; you can't possibly wish the keepers and milkmaids to hear every word you say."
"I don't care, Jekyl. I think you have made me mad."
"You are a bit mad, Jane, but it is not I who made you so."
"Yes, Jekyl, you've made me mad—you have made me a fiend; but, bad as I am, I can never face that good man more."