"Yes—wrong! Have you never been told that you can do one thing wrong among so many that you do right, Miss Vancourt?" he asked, with great gentleness—"You had it in your power to show your true womanliness by refusing to smoke,—you could, in your position as hostess, have saved your women friends from making fools of themselves—yes—the word is out, and I don't apologise for it!"— here a sudden smile kindled in his fine eyes—"And you could also have given them all an example of obedience."
"Obedience!" exclaimed Maryllia, astonished,—"What do you mean?
Obedience to whom?"
"To me!" replied John, with perfect composure.
She gazed at him, scarcely believing she had heard aright.
"To you?" she repeated—"To you?"
"Why certainly!" said John, wondering even as he spoke at his own ease and self-assurance—"As minister of the parish I am the only person here that is set in authority over you—and the first thing you do is to defy me!"
His manner was whimsical and kindly,—his tone of voice playfully tender, as though he were speaking to some naughty child whom, notwithstanding its temper, he loved too well to scold,—and Maryllia was completely taken aback by this unexpected method of treating her combative humour. Her pretty mouth opened like a rosebud,—she seemed as though she would speak, but only an inarticulate murmur came from her parted lips; while the very faintest lurking suspicion of a smile crept dimpling over her face, to be lost again in the hostile expression of her eyes.
"You say I was rude,"—he went on,—"If I was, need you have been rude too?"
She found utterance quickly.
"I was not rude—-" she began.