“I was about to add,” I said coldly, “that, since I have lived at ‘Pastimes,’ I have not had my own way at all. I have not wanted it. Mrs Fane’s character is stronger than mine. I have been content to abdicate in her favour. If you asked her opinion of me, she would probably tell you that I was too pliable—too easily influenced.”
Silence. The blunt, roughly-hewn profile stared stolidly ahead. A granite wall would have shown as much expression. I was seized with an immense, a devastating curiosity to discover what he was thinking. I fixed my eyes steadily upon him, mentally willing him to turn round.
He knew I was doing it. I could see the red rise above his collar rim, and mount steadily to his ears.
He was determined that he would not speak. I was equally determined that he should.
“Mr Maplestone! I am waiting for a remark.”
“Miss Wastneys, I—er—I have no remark to make.”
“You don’t recognise me in the latter rôle?”
“I—er—I can’t say that I do! On the few occasions on which we have met, you have appeared to me to be abundantly—er—to be, in short, the ruling spirit.”
I thought of that first interview in the inn when the brunt of the bargaining had fallen on me; I thought of the tragic evening at the “Hall,” when I had arranged a hurried departure, without apparently consulting Charmion’s wishes. Appearances were against me, and it was impossible to explain them away. I said, in a cross, hurt voice:—
“Oh, of course, you think me everything that is disagreeable and domineering. It is just as I said—men see only one thing, and it colours their whole view. If I lived a lifetime of meekness and self-abnegation, you would never forget that affair of the lease. And it was your own fault, too! You were the unreasonable one, not I; but all the same, you have never forgiven. Delphine told me how much you disliked me.”