His cool confession staggered her.
As he stood there, unabashed and unrepentant, she looked round quickly, in search of something to strike him with. For the knowledge of his deceit and duplicity had made her beside herself with rage.
Since there was no weapon at hand, she set off rapidly across the lawn, heedless of where she went, her only desire to get away from him.
She had not gone very far, however, before he was at her side.
"Where are you going, Pansy?" he asked with a masterful air.
That he should dare to follow her; dare to call her by her name enraged her beyond all bounds. And his words added to her fury. They made her realise there was nowhere she could go to escape him.
Like a whirlwind she turned upon him.
"I wish ... I wish I could kill you," she gasped.
There was a tennis racket lying at her feet. As if to carry out this design, she stooped and picked it up; her only desire now to send it crashing into the mocking, masterful face.
But he guessed her intention. In a moment he had grasped the racket and wrested it away.