"Quita . . . darling . . ." he began, his voice thick with passion.
But her name on his lips roused her like a pistol-shot.
"Go back . . . please go back," she cried imperatively. "I came away because I wanted . . . to be alone."
"But I thought . . ."
"I can't help what you thought! If you have any—respect for me at all, you will do what I ask."
"Of course. Only I shall see you again to-night. I must."
"No . . . no. Not to-night."
"To-morrow then?"
But she had already left him; and for his part, he must needs return the way he came,—frustrated, yet not enlightened; cursing, in no measured terms, the unfathomable ways of women. No doubt she was upset, unstrung by the knowledge of all that her confession implied; and woman-like, showed small regard for his consuming impatience to possess her. But to-morrow he would ride home with her. And after that—the Deluge!
Quita left alone again went forward with lagging feet, and a heart emptied of hope. Her own disappointment crowded out all thought of Garth's unusual behaviour; till renewed steps behind her suggested the astonishing possibility that he had dared to disregard her request, and followed her, in spite of all. The suggestion roused not fear, but anger, and the militant spirit of independence that circumstances had so fostered in her.